


what comes after

by poppyseedheart



Series: the when of it all [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Angst with a Happy Ending, Exes, Explicit Sexual Content, Getting Together, Multi, Spies & Secret Agents, Various RT Personalities - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 02:13:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13894074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poppyseedheart/pseuds/poppyseedheart
Summary: Gavin has never been any good at putting down roots.After working as a spy in the Revolution for five years, he and Meg finish their final mission and strike out on their own to Austin in search of the next thing. Along the way, though, they run into a ghost from Gavin's past in no-man's-land. They also meet this ghost's shotgun, his quasi-farm settlement, and his beautiful wife, all of which contribute to their decision to stay awhile.Time passes, and with it comes a new, slower, sweeter lifestyle. As he and Meg find their place in the Jones' lives, Gavin is forced reconsider what it will take for him to be happy when staying feels like the scariest thing of all.





	what comes after

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this fic in February of 2017 on a plane home from Texas. It has been kind of a constant for me since — I've funneled in a lot of my personal feelings about growth and home and struggling to put down roots. 
> 
> I would like to shout out Katy, Dellie, and Brenna, all of whom offered opinions and let me yell about this for entirely too long. This wouldn't exist without you!

The restaurant is exorbitantly expensive. 

That’s not the most prominent thing about it — maybe the red velvet wall hangings, or the crystal chandeliers, or the nearly unpronounceable entrée names take the cake there — but it’s important for their purposes. The people here have money, and with money comes pull. Gavin knows a thing or two about that.

“Earth to Gav, hello? What wine do you want?”

Gavin’s attention snaps back to his date and the waiter she’s talking to. “Sorry,” he says, smiling bashfully. “Got a bit distracted, didn’t I? Have you got a preference, love?”

Meg doesn’t roll her eyes, but by the tilt of her mouth Gavin can tell it’s a close thing. “Something white, maybe,” she suggests, eyeing the list. “I wanted to pair a crisp one with my salmon, or maybe something more buttery. Oh- or maybe a noir to take home.” She purses her red, red lips. Her hair is deep purple and twisted up into a bun, one strand delicately framing her face.

“The best you have,” Gavin tells the waiter. “One bottle of each, please.” He doesn’t ask the price because he’s no amateur, and Meg smiles at him, pleased.

The waiter leaves, and Gavin turns back toward Meg fully. “This place is lovely, isn’t it?”

“Lovely,” Meg agrees. She steals a glance over Gavin’s shoulder at the couple behind him, which he dutifully ignores. “I always feel so fancy at restaurants like this,” she continues, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Like we’re not just on a nice date, but it’s our life.”

“Right,” agrees Gavin, and he can’t help his answering grin. “This is posh. Too posh for normal civilians like us, right Turney?”

She nods once, almost business-like except for the quick up-down bob of her bun and the sparkle in her eye. It’s the same old routine, but it doesn’t get less fun just because they know the game.

The wine comes, and then the food, and it’s delicious, and they make sweet small talk over the candle light. Gavin’s heart rate picks up the closer they get to dessert, but he keeps his smile easy and his posture loose. He’s carefully careless in the same way that his hair is artfully tousled. 

Meg excuses herself to the restroom, and Gavin checks his watch. They’ve been here for an hour and a half. He needs to quit stalling. It’s just so lovely here, is the thing. After this, everything changes.

“You good?” he asks when Meg comes back.

She sits delicately. “Just peachy,” she answers.

Gavin glances at the back of the restaurant, where the man he’d been watching is helping his date into her coat. “Alright,” he says, mostly to himself, and then he gets down on one knee.

Meg _squeals_ , long and loud, and pretty soon they have the attention of the entire restaurant on them.

“Well,” says Gavin, raising his voice a little to be heard, “wasn’t expecting to have quite this much of an audience while I did this.” There’s an indulgent titter from the crowd in response. He turns his attention back to Meg. “Hi,” he tells her.

“Hi,” answers Meg, almost choked up but not quite.

Gavin grins at her, and she grins back. “I’m sure you can guess what I’m doing,” he says, just loud enough that the bystanders can be part of the moment. “In case you can’t, though, I’m- you’re my best friend. My partner, yeah? Been in this together a long time, and I wouldn’t want to be doing it with anyone else.”

Meg nods a little, looks impressed. Gavin hadn’t been planning to go off script, but he’s committed, and it’s not like he’ll ever do this again. “So,” he continues, “since you’re my favorite person, I thought we could make this thing permanent. Get hitched, make it official. What do you say?”

“Yeah,” breathes Meg, eyes wide and almost tearful.

Gavin stands and slips the ring onto her finger. It’s a weirdly weighty moment, but the thing costs more than either of them will likely make in their entire lifetime, and Gavin really does love her, so maybe it isn’t all that weird after all.

He raises their linked hands, hers now adorned with a diamond. “She said yes!” he tells the restaurant. He knows they make a handsome couple. As expected, all eyes are on them as the room bursts into cheers.

Meg’s timing is picture perfect. She tugs Gavin into a kiss, and as soon as their lips meet, she hits the detonator.

The explosion comes from the women’s restroom, loud and overwhelming, and Gavin feels himself being dragged forward by Meg by their still-linked hands, heat washing over the back of his jacket. There’s screaming. He and Meg nearly trip over one of the waiters, and then again over a couple trying to hide under a table. At the front door, a crowd has amassed, people shoving at each other to try to get out.

They sneak out a side entrance in the chaos and Gavin uses the laser in his watch to seal the lock shut behind them. “Forgot how much fun it is to blow stuff up,” he says, thrumming with adrenaline.

“Especially when they deserve it,” answers Meg.

Together, they make their way to the car waiting around the corner for them, Meg sliding confidently into the driver’s seat and revving the engine. “You ready?” she asks.

“Get us out of here,” he tells her.

She peels away from the curb so fast he has to grip the door handle of the car to stay upright, and she whoops as the restaurant disappears in the rearview.

This was the last mission they’d been assigned with the Revolution. It’s weird to think about, considering the fact that the last time Gavin had been unaffiliated with the cause, he’d been seventeen in a different country, dirt poor and trying to make something of himself. He heard there was possibly an opportunity in Texas for foreigners to take part in saving the world. The Revolution feels, at once, much bigger and much smaller than that, but Gavin packed his bags anyway and never looked back.

Ten years later, he’s nearly finished playing his part.

“Austin, then?” he asks, settling more comfortably into the seat. It’s not a long ride to where they’re stopping first, but the closer they get to city border the darker it is and the more surreal it feels. Gavin hasn’t been outside of San Antonio in going on seven years now.

Meg looks over at him, face painted in shades of purple light. “Austin,” she agrees. 

Back at the restaurant, the patrons should have, by now, funneled out the front door directly into a veritable Revolution armada. Those guilty of crimes against humanity will have been taken to trial, the others locked up until the final overthrow is complete. By that point, Gavin and Meg will be long gone.

“You ready?” he asks.

Meg just smiles a little, eyes on the road, and doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need to. They’ve been preparing for this for a long, long time.

//

They come to a stop at the side of the road an hour and a half later.

Meg looks sad as she gets out of the car. “It handled so well,” she says, patting the hood like it’s a thoroughbred horse and she’s a jockey. “Shame it has to go.”

“Yeah,” agrees Gavin, but they both know it’s the only choice. This has been part of the plan for over six months now. The tracking device is too complicated to disarm outside of city limits, and it’s not worth the risk of being compromised even if the Revolution is fully successful the way they’re hoping it will be. They need to disappear entirely, and this is the only way to do that.

They gather the packs out of the trunk, both of them lightweight and ergonomic in shape, the latest tech available. Gavin swings his over his back, watches Meg do the same. They leave their phones in the car.

They’ll be on foot from here on out. Gavin’s self-aware enough to admit he’s more or less terrified about it.

As they walk from the car, he takes Meg’s hand. She holds it for a bit, then lets go, and they keep moving forward. Behind them, the car erupts into flames, the sound of metal scraping against metal shocking in the quiet: this will be the last explosion for, hopefully, a good while, even if it is necessary.

They walk away from it all, further from the city, and it feels like a door closing gently shut behind them.

//

Gavin wakes up in a tent, and it takes him a moment to remember where he is. Next to him, Meg is sprawled out and dead to the world, hair loose and sticking up in strange places, remnants of makeup smeared at her eyes. He takes a moment to trace the line of her brow, and she doesn’t stir.

He peeks outside the tent before stepping out, and, finding everything as quiet and calm as they were hoping for it to be, relieves himself a few paces out from the side of the road, well out of the way of the tent.

The landscape out here, a day and a half into the journey, is bleaker and emptier and all-around more wide open than he expected. The prairie used to be green, practically lush, but the bombings changed that, and there’s no sign of life out here. As the Revolution takes hold, he’d have expected far more people to flee the city, but maybe they did and they’re just not quite reckless enough to try for Austin. Gavin’s heard the rumors just like everyone else has, but they always seemed distant, like a watery dream. Here, in the middle of a veritable desert, the only monotony-breaker is the streaking sunrise painting everything vivid shades of red, pink, and gold.

They need to get an early start on the day if they want to make it to Austin before their rations run out. Gavin peels back the tent door and wakes Meg, and they both eat some granola, drink some water, double check the rations, and pack up the camp.

“How long today?” asks Meg, voice still blurry with sleep.

Gavin checks the log. “Eleven hours, give or take.”

Meg pauses, squinting out into the sunrise. “Okay,” she says after a moment.

She doesn’t sound enthused at the prospect, but neither is Gavin, and mornings are harder for her than they are for him but she doesn’t complain. “Sooner we start, sooner we can stop,” he offers.

“Yeah,” says Meg, and it looks like she’s steeling herself for the day. “Yeah, let’s go.”

//

“So then I just looked at him and said, ‘What the fuck? I’m a spy, you piece of shit.’”

“You didn’t,” says Gavin, scandalized and only overdoing it a little. “Christ, you’ve got a mouth on you. What’d he say?”

Meg grins. The hot noon sun is beating at the backs of their necks. They under-packed on sunscreen, and Gavin isn’t looking forward to tonight once the sun has set and they can check their burns in peace, but it’s still nice to see the weather clear like this. The sky is so blue it almost hurts to look at, and Meg looks perfectly at home in the bright heat. “He told me to stick it where the sun don’t shine. So I told him we live in Texas, and he’s gonna have to try that insult again.” 

Gavin laughs, shaking his head. “You’re braver than me,” he says. He’s an idiot sometimes, but he’s never that combatant while on missions. “Did you get his wallet?” 

“Withdrew almost three thousand bucks ATM-hopping before he shut off the cards. Bought myself a huge TV, a console, and a sweet sound system. _And_ I pissed him off. Best job ever.”

She sighs dreamily, far away smile on her face. It’s like she doesn’t even notice the sweat beading at her hairline or the way the hot ground must be searing the bottoms of her shoes like it is Gavin’s.

According to the old-fashioned paper map they’re using, they’re still almost a hundred miles of walking away from Austin. It would have been shorter if they’d decided to take it in a straight shot, but the area directly between the two hubs is almost impossible to traverse by foot due to the damage the roads and ground in general took in the second round of bombings a couple years back. It’s just asking for trouble (or radiation poisoning at the very least) to go that way. As it is, they have about four days ahead of them, and they need to turn that into three.

They’ll likely have to slow down once they hit the settlements, but Gavin’s confident they’ll figure it out. Meg is brilliant at talking her way out of sticky situations, and tough as nails to boot. And it’s just a little longer — once they get to Austin, the rest of it will hopefully solve itself.

“What do you think we’ll find there?” he asks a few moments later, just as the quiet has settled back over them.

Meg cocks her head as she thinks. “Burnie, hopefully. Maybe some other people we knew. Hopefully it’s not as bad there as it is back home.”

“Million dollars,” says Gavin, “but Austin is completely underground.”

“Duh,” answers Meg without missing a beat. “As long as it’s still an actual city with people in it, of course I’m in. Think about the _shade_. It would be so much cooler. I’d take it for free.”

Gavin concedes the point. “Same. It’s bloody baking out here.”

“Yeah,” sighs Meg. Her hair has half fallen out of its messy bun, loose strands sticking to her skin. The purple started fading just before they left, and it’s even lighter now after so much sun exposure and so little chance to touch it up.

“How would we find it, though?” he asks. Meg looks at him, confused. “Austin,” he clarifies. “If it was underground, it’d be horrid trying to locate it. We can’t even use our nav tech.”

“I mean,” says Meg, “we _could_.”

Gavin shakes his head. “We’d be ducks in a barrel.”

A pause.

“ _Ducks_?” asks Meg, grinning widely. “In a _barrel_? Oh, Gav.”

Gavin splutters. “Monkeys!” he protests. “I meant monkeys! You know that’s what I meant!”

“Fish!” Meg yells back through shocked laughter. “Fish in a barrel! Oh my god! Who taught you English?” She sounds delighted to have more ammo to use against him in the future, which is about an accurate depiction of any given interaction between them.

He gives up trying to defend himself, just shrugs and laughs along.

They continue on in silence a little longer, stealing sidelong glances at one another. The bags under Meg’s eyes are darker than they were before even despite her bright disposition. He’s sure he doesn’t look any less tired than she does.

The sun continues to beat down on them.

Gavin checks his watch again. Six hours ‘til sundown, and another three or four after that until they can stop for the night.

They press on.

//

At first, Gavin swears he’s hallucinating when he hears the shouting. Later, he’ll blame it on the exhaustion, because he’s never believed in ghosts and this is not the time to start. For now, though, he puts it out of his mind as best he can. Chalks it up to seeing things, hearing things, whatever.

It’s been a long couple of days, and they haven’t gotten as much sleep or water or food as they maybe should, and they’re just enough behind schedule that the nerves are setting in for real. Meg has started to lag a little, and he grimaces as he tries to nudge her ahead again. “C’mon, Turney. Gotta make it past the first group of settlements before we sleep.”

It’ll be another two hours at least. “I know,” she says, voice small. She sounds exhausted, more emotionally than physically, and she picks up the pace.

They keep moving, and then Gavin freezes. “Did you hear that?”

“What? Gav, keep walking-”

They’re cut off by another yell, and this time Gavin knows it’s real. It’s garbled but it sounds angry, and he turns toward where he thinks it’s coming from, just ahead of where they are now. There’s a small house, the first in a smattering of settlements, and someone’s out on the front stoop, backlit by the porch light. 

“What?” calls Gavin, for lack of anything better to say. He starts walking toward the house, Meg following close behind.

Now that he’s paying attention, it’s not hard to hear what the person is yelling. “Back off!” comes the shout. “I have a fucking shotgun, I’ll blow your fucking head off! I don’t give a fuck!”

Gavin tilts his head and squints, walking faster.

“Gavin,” hisses Meg, grabbing his arm, “where are you going? He’s gonna kill us, let’s _not_ walk towards him.”

“Hold on,” says Gavin. He’s almost close enough to make out the person’s features. “Hey,” he says, raising his voice to be heard across the distance. “Who’re you?”

The figure swerves to re-aim the gun toward the sound. “I’m not bluffing,” he warns, and Gavin’s suspicions are confirmed by the shape the figure cuts in the low light. “I swear to god, you take one more step and I’ll-”

“Put down the shotgun, boi!” says Gavin. He puts his hands up to show he’s unarmed, but he doesn’t stop walking, and finds himself starting to smile.

Meg tries to yank him back again, but Gavin isn’t worried anymore.

There’s a pause, gun still raised, and then the reply comes. “ _Gavin?_ ” 

“Michael!” replies Gavin cheerily. “Long time no see. Didn’t know you were set up out here.”

“Jesus Christ,” says Michael, finally lowering the shotgun. “Come on, get inside. It’s not fucking safe out there.” Gavin’s finally close enough to see his face, and is pleased to find that Michael really doesn’t look much different at all. It’s been nearly five years since they last spoke, since Michael left and Gavin stayed, and there’s a lot left unsaid between them. He just hopes it’s nothing that can’t be fixed with a quick chat.

He and Meg walk up the steps of the porch. “Hiya,” says Gavin.

The house is small, one story with white wooden paneling and peeling paint on the outside. The roof looks like it was patched together in a few days. It probably leaks when it rains, but the overall effect is still at least halfway to charming.

Michael looks at him, gaze hard. That’s new, that he has such a gravity to him. He’s always been intense, but his expression is impenetrable like granite and Gavin wants to know everything that happened between then and now to make him look like this. 

“Don’t be loud,” he says. “Lindsay’s sleeping.” 

“Lindsay?” asks Gavin.

Michael opens the door, walks inside, and puts the shotgun on a rack on the wall. “My wife,” he explains, and Gavin nearly stops short.

The ring on Michael’s finger is suddenly a lot more noticeable. “Oh,” he says, “wow. Congratulations, mate.”

“Whatever,” says Michael. He looks tired, too, now that they’re in proper light in the hallway. Bags under his eyes and all. “Kitchen’s over there, you can grab some water if you want. Guest room’s on the left. Don’t steal all our shit.”

“Michael-”

“We’ll talk in the morning,” says Michael. Gavin wants to stop him, wants to make sure he’s real, but then Michael and turns and walks down a different hallway and Meg and Gavin are abruptly alone in the tiny foyer.

There’s a pause, silence pressing at them. The sideways weirdness of being in a strange house is getting to both of them, feels like, and they’re way off target for their plan. They were supposed to hit Austin in two days. That won’t happen if they stay here.

Meg is chewing on her lower lip. “That’s- Michael, you said. The name sounds familiar. How do you know him again?” she asks. Sounds uncertain. He can’t blame her for her hesitance.

“We worked together in the City,” says Gavin, “before things blew up. I got recruited by the Revolution, so I stayed. They tried to recruit him too, but he said no, so. He left. It was kind of a fight. Hadn’t seen him since.” It’s a horribly inadequate explanation, but there’s no room for the rest of it here, not yet.

“Are you sure he’s not gonna kill us?” asks Meg.

Gavin shakes his head. “He’s all talk,” he promises, but even as he does he isn’t all that sure of himself. Before, he’d have been a hundred percent certain, but five years is a long time, and Gavin is still thinking about that look in Michael’s eyes. “I trust him,” he settles on instead, and that rings true. There was a time where he and Michael would die for each other. They may be different people now, but that doesn’t just disappear.

“Okay,” says Meg, exhaustion winning out over doubt for now.

They drink water out of chipped glasses before trudging to the guest room, putting their backpacks in the corner. The duvet has a floral pattern, looks old and worn. Meg kicks off her shoes, climbs on the bed, and curls up under the duvet and the blanket underneath immediately. She’s asleep between one breath and the next.

Gavin sits at the edge of the bed for a minute, runs a hand over his face. He has no idea how he’s supposed to feel right now. Even despite his trepidation, though, a bed’s a bed. He’d be an idiot to pass up the chance to get a night of sound sleep, especially after the packed dirt ground of the past couple nights. Sure enough, he tucks up next to Meg, drops his head to the pillow, and is out like a light.

//

He wakes up to Meg kicking him in the calf.

“Christ, Turney.” She’s well in shape, and that paired with her restless sleep patterns means that Gavin more often than not ends up with bruised legs in the morning. The girl’s a force of nature.

Meg stirs, throwing an arm over her eyes. “Sorry,” she mumbles.

“It’s alright,” he says on a sigh, rolling onto his back. The ceiling is off white, a little deeper in color in some places with lingering water damage. He has no idea what time is it, hasn’t known since since the clock on his watch crapped out and only left the odometer functioning.

There’s the sound of quiet conversation filtering in through the door from what’s likely the kitchen, along with some clinking plates and running water.

“We should get up,” offers Meg. She doesn’t make any move to actually get up. Her grogginess in the morning was her greatest weakness as a spy and what made Gavin worry the most when she went off on jobs alone. They served as each other’s handlers more than once when they weren’t both in the field together, and those early morning calls when her observation skills were greatly lowered stressed him out than he cares to admit.

Eventually they manage to rouse themselves, checking each other over absentmindedly as they get dressed. The bruising around Meg’s ankle from where she tripped in a pothole the other day is looking lighter, and the swelling looks to be down a bit. He knows she’s probably looking at the scrape he sustained on his forearm from bracing against the ground yesterday morning without noticing that his sleeve had ridden up.

“Think your friend will let us do some laundry? Or take a shower?” asks Meg.

Gavin, from what little information he’s gathered about this place, isn’t sure how much electricity or water is even running through here. “Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe they’ve got a tub or something we can use. I’m not picky.” He used to be picky as all hell, but living his life while constantly on the brink of being arrested for treason and tortured for information makes priorities shift pretty quickly.

Meg hums a sound in concession and finishes pulling on her jeans. 

By unspoken agreement, they head out of the bedroom together. They could leave now, theoretically, and just accept the extra hours they’ll need to walk. At this rate, they’ll hit Austin at night, which isn’t ideal, but at least they’d make it before their rations run out. Maybe Michael and his wife have some more water to spare, even.

If he’s being honest, though, Gavin doesn’t want to leave right away. For all that he and Michael were essentially cut off from each other after Gavin joined the Revolution and Michael hit the road, they were close before. They were best friends. Of course Gavin wants to know what Michael’s been up to, and meet his wife, and all that jazz. Of course he doesn’t want to lose him again.

The sounds from the kitchen get louder as they get closer, plates and glasses clinking against each other, and it smells like they’re cooking something hot. Gavin’s stomach growls audibly, and Meg half-giggles at him. 

“Same,” she says, “but you don’t have to be so loud about it.”

Any other time, this would be easy, playful, but the mood is damper than usual. They’re not sure what comes next, or how to approach the situation at all. Gavin’s the one that knows Michael, though, and the one that dragged Meg here in the first place, so he takes the lead.

Inside the kitchen, Michael is alone, standing at the stove scrambling some eggs. 

Gavin clears his throat. “Morning,” he says.

Michael turns around for long enough to get a look at them, then turns back to the stove. “You can sit,” he says gruffly. “This’ll be ready in five.”

Meg sits. Gavin stays standing for a moment, watching the tense line of Michael’s back, then follows suit.

The eggs are hissing in the pan, and Meg shoots Gavin a look like _Remember when you said he wasn’t gonna snap and murder us? Are you still sure about that?_

Gavin looks back at her, trying to convey a subtle _Pretty sure. About a nine out of ten. Maybe even a nine point five._

Meg’s answering expression is unimpressed. The room is still quiet.

And then the door opens. “Oh, wow! I don’t know why I’m so surprised, Michael said we had guests.”

Gavin almost flinches out of his seat. At his back, the woman who is presumably Michael’s wife just walked in. Her hair is blonde and long, dark roots starting peek through, and she has a hand placed over her heart, smiling ruefully at herself.

Michael turns, roll his eyes. “Goddamn it, Lindsay.”

Lindsay sticks her tongue out at him, then directs her attention back to Gavin and Meg. “Sorry about him, he was raised by wolves. I’m Lindsay, nice to meet you.”

When it becomes clear that Gavin isn’t going to say anything, Meg speaks up. “I’m Meg, and this is Gavin. Sorry we just barged in like this.”

“Michael was insistent we stay the night,” adds Gavin. 

“Bossy,” remarks Lindsay, but she sounds unsurprised.

The conversation is halted by breakfast being put on the table next to the neat glasses of water at the corner of each placemat. Lindsay sits by Meg, and Michael sits next to Gavin. 

For a moment, the only sound is forks clinking against plates. Gavin has to make a conscious effort not to scarf down the entire meal in a matter of seconds, which is hard when it smells so good and they’ve been so careful with their rations. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Meg doing more or less the same.

“So what brings you into no-man’s-land?” asks Lindsay. She looks relaxed in her chair, a stark contrast to the rest of them. 

Gavin glances at Michael, wonders how much Lindsay knows about any of this, Gavin’s involvement in the Revolution included. “Heading to Austin,” he says, instead of explaining further.

Lindsay raises her eyebrows. “Oh,” she says. “Interesting. You know someone there?”

“We did,” says Meg. “We’re hoping they’re still around.”

“Good luck,” says Lindsay, and it’s almost impossible to tell whether it’s sincere or sarcastic. She presses on before Gavin can decide her intentions. “Did y’all walk all the way here from the City?”

Gavin nods. He and Meg both are spectacularly sunburned across their faces, which is probably answer enough. “Long walk,” he says.

“Yup,” agrees Michael under his breath, expression stormy.

Michael left for the settlements on a Saturday. Didn’t say goodbye. Gavin still remembers standing outside of his apartment like an idiot that night, hoping beyond hope that they’d be able to keep their date before everything changed. But he was wrong — everything had already changed, and the apartment was dark, and Michael was gone, leaving Gavin in the City with a handful of dreams and one hell of a broken heart.

Thinking about Michael making the very same walk five years ago makes Gavin’s stomach hurt — though, of course, Michael didn’t leave alone. There’s no sign of his partner, and Gavin doesn’t know how he feels about that, so he turns it into a weapon.

“How’s Ray?” he asks, only a little meanly.

Michael scowls. “Fuck off.”

It doesn’t feel like the victory Gavin had hoped it would. They eat the rest of their breakfast in silence.

//

The shower is heavenly. Gavin hisses when the water hits his various scrapes and burns — the water’s only lukewarm, but it’s been days and days since he last got to properly clean himself and he wouldn’t complain about this for anything.

In the guest room, Meg was drying her hair last Gavin saw her, borrowing some of Lindsay’s too-big clothes while all of their own run through the washer. For all of Michael’s angry posturing (even if it is real), he and Lindsay have been more than gracious hosts. Gavin still has no idea where he and Meg stand with them — or, more pressingly, where he himself stands with the man that used to be his best friend in the world and, some days, more than that — but this is better than he’d have expected after the way the last twelve hours have gone.

The tile in the shower is a bright white, even the grout clean, and it’s incredibly satisfying to see the dust swirling in rivulets down the drain and away from his tired body.

By the time he gets out of the shower, his fingers have pruned up a bit, and his hair doesn’t feel caked with a very uncomfortable combination of dust and grease anymore. “Turney?” he asks, toweling off his torso as he walks back into the guest room. “Have you-”

He stops abruptly, realizing he’s talking to an empty room. She must be in the kitchen or something. He shrugs it off, throwing some clothes on and trying not to laugh at the way the ankles of the jeans he was given hover a couples of inches away from his ankles. Michael may very well actually shoot Gavin’s head off if he thinks Gavin is making fun of his height.

When he gets to the kitchen, though, he sees Lindsay sitting alone at the table. The rest of the house is quiet.

Gavin slows his gait, uncertain. “Where’s Meg?” he asks. Meg can handle herself, he reminds himself, but it’s hard to stop the panic from swelling up in his gut anyway.

Lindsay looks up from her tablet. “Helping Michael,” she says, and doesn’t offer anything else.

Gavin can’t help the way his voice pitches higher and more strained as he asks, “With what?”

“We sun-dried some fruit, so she’s helping him gather it.”

It’s a benign enough explanation, but Gavin has a hard time believing she’d just walk out of the house without letting him know where she’s going. They’re not each others’ keepers, but Gavin worries about her. He doesn’t have a lot of people in his life that he’d die for. He keeps the ones he does have close when he can.

Lindsay turns back to her tablet, and Gavin resists the urge to stamp his foot or vaguely threaten her. “Listen,” he says instead, “we need to leave soon if we want to make it to Austin in time.”

“Kind of a dick move to come fuck with Michael’s head and then leave,” Lindsay says, tone incongruously light. She locks the tablet, puts it away in a drawer next to the table. “Plus, you won’t make it to Austin if you two go alone and unarmed. You’ll get robbed for everything you have and left to rot in the wasteland, you know that right?”

“We’re not helpless,” Gavin shoots back, thrown off by her change in tune. There is something sharper behind her sleepy eyes, her lazy smile. It makes him prickle that he wasn’t expecting it; more than once his survival in the field has depended on his ability to read people. “We worked as spies in the bloody Revolution, we can take care of ourselves.”

“Yeah?” asks Lindsay. “How are your spy skills gonna hold up in the face of a sniper rifle, or a machete?”

Gavin huffs, gritting his teeth, but he doesn’t answer.

Lindsay’s expression softens. “Michael needed some help, and Meg offered. That’s all. I was thinking you could keep me company at work, see the town a little, but if you want to leave I’m not going to stop you. Just saying it’s a death wish.” She pauses. “Also, Michael would be pissed if you left without saying goodbye, but don’t tell him I said that.”

Gavin can’t help but scoff. “That’s rich,” he says. “Didn’t think he cared much for goodbyes.”

“It’s been five years,” starts Lindsay.

“You weren’t bloody there!” yells Gavin. He’s breathing hard, hands in fists at his sides. “You weren’t there,” he says again, quieter this time. “I don’t know what in bollocking hell Michael told you about what happened, but it was between us, and it’s been forever and a day anyway.”

Lindsay sighs and puts her hands up in surrender. “Alright,” she says. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to meddle.”

Gavin grumbles a little but nods. “I want to talk to Meg.”

“They’re a couple plots over in the back.”

Gavin doesn’t wait for her before leaving. He’s not usually this rude, but he’s giving himself a pass just this once because he’s worked up and not in the mood to unearth his past more than he already has.

It’s baking outside, and a rare humidity makes the heat all the more oppressive. If Gavin squints, he can make out Meg’s hair in the distance, so he starts walking in that direction. As he gets closer, he spots Michael, too, hat low over his head. 

“Hey!” he yells once he’s close enough to be heard.

They both look up.

“Hey,” answers Meg, wiping some sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. “I thought Lindsay was gonna show you the town.”

“Yeah,” says Michael.

Gavin pinches the bridge of his nose. “Can I talk to you for a minute privately?”

Michael rolls his eyes. “I’ll just fuck off, then.” It’s a little dramatic, but he looks a touch lighter than he did earlier when Gavin started needling at him.

When it’s just Gavin and Meg, Gavin takes a breath. “What’re we doing, Turney?”

Meg’s brow furrows. “He needed help, I figured it was the least I could-”

“I mean longer term,” says Gavin, cutting her off. “We were already almost a day behind when we stopped. And now we’re just, what, playing house here?”

Meg looks surprised, eyebrows raised. “Is that what we’re doing? Playing house? Gav, we needed a break. I’m not saying we should stay forever. He asked for help, though, and I haven’t known him long, but I don’t think that’s something he does a whole lot. Can I at least see why he asked me?”

Meg, as always, is a spot-on judge of character. Michael almost died one winter in the City because he refused to ask for a ride to the hospital after contracting pneumonia. He thought he could drive himself and collapsed behind the wheel, steering harmlessly into a snowbank at ten miles an hour tops. It was an awful time for Gavin when he received the phone call, to say the very least. 

Gavin’s not his emergency contact anymore, and hasn’t been for a while, but he knows Michael, and he knows Meg is right.

“Yeah,” says Gavin, “yeah, sorry. I overreacted. Being here is making me irrational.” 

Meg nods slowly, sharp eyes watching him. “Do you really want to leave?” she asks after a beat. “Or are you just scared of what’ll happen if we stay?”

It’s forward, but Meg’s never been one for dancing around things, even this early. Gavin swallows hard. He can’t say _I have no idea_ , so he doesn’t. “We’ll talk later,” he says instead. He doesn’t know why everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion, or why his breaths feel shorter. 

Meg tugs him in for a quick kiss. “Go to the town. Come back after. We’ll figure it out, okay? We’ll leave tonight, even, if we want.”

“Alright,” says Gavin. He tucks a piece of Meg’s hair behind her ear. “Be good.”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling, which was the goal. “Always am,” she answers, which is always a massive lie.

He lets it go, walks back to the house. Tries to get ready mentally for the day ahead of him.

//

Texas, Meg knows, is hot as hell in the summer. Knowing this doesn’t stop her sunburn, though, and it doesn’t protect the bottoms of her feet or her fingertips as she gathers dried fruit from the hard, packed dirt a ways away from the house. Knowing doesn’t make it easier to stay bent at the hips like this even when it aches, just like knowing that it’s dangerous out here doesn’t scare her the way that it probably should. She’s wiggled her way out of worse situations before.

Gavin’s on his way to Lindsay’s work, and Meg wonders if this divide and conquer was planned, or if they’re just improvising. Lindsay has been so pleasantly neutral to the two of them, likeable without being overbearing, smiling with an edge of mystery. Meg can’t help but think she’d make a great spy.

Lost in her thoughts, she almost doesn’t notice that she’s picked up the last few fruits of this batch.

“Raisins are done!” she yells, hoisting the basket onto her hip and wiping the sweat from her brow.

Michael stands up, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hands. It’s bright now, but in the distance there’s a storm brewing. “Let’s do the peaches and then head back,” he calls back, barely having to strain himself for his voice to carry.

It’s fascinating to Meg that Gavin was once so fond of Michael, especially considering the vast differences in their personalities. Meg still doesn’t trust Michael, though the fact that he hasn’t tried to kill her while they’re alone out here is a point in his favor, and all he’s presented so far is a myriad of contradictions. Gruff but generous, spiteful but fair, hot-headed but quiet in between his outbursts. Despite herself, she wants to know more.

She heads over in his direction, lugging both the raisins and a fresh basket for the peaches. When she gets close enough, she stops, cocking a hip. “So are you mad at me because of Gavin or is this just your personality?”

Michael looks up sharply. “You haven’t seen me mad,” he says. It’s probably meant to be threatening, but Meg’s made a career out of dealing with cocky men, and she’s not about to turn into a shrinking violet in the face of another.

“Oh?” she asks. “Not even when you threatened to blow our ‘fucking faces off’?”

Michael, unexpectedly, smiles. He has a dimple in his left cheek. It makes him look younger. “Not gonna apologize for that,” he tells her. 

She rolls her eyes. “Of course not.”

There’s a beat of silence, then Michael asks, “So did you guys, like, save the City? Or whatever?” His tone is weirdly forced, like he’s trying too hard to be normal, and he’s rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.

Meg gathers a few more peaches and puts them in the basket. “We don’t know.”

“What?” asks Michael. She can see his eyebrows raising over the frame of his glasses. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

“We left,” says Meg. “We were never going to be part of the- the boss battle, you know? Originally we were going to stay out of it entirely, but Gav didn’t want to be too out of the loop in case something happened.”

Michael glances over. “Like what?”

 _Like you_ , Meg doesn’t say, because it’s not her secret to share and she doesn’t think it would help anything anyway. It’s true, though. Gavin didn’t talk about Michael much back then unless he was drunk, but even then he was so careful to keep everything vague. _Don’t want him to get hurt,_ he used to tell Meg. _Need to keep him safe. If it’s safe then he can come back._

Meg was never sure what to say when Gavin talked like that. Still doesn’t know what to say, really, which makes this hard. Gavin, who is always so careful to keep acquaintances but never friends, who doesn’t get attached because it’s easier not to, who can be so selfish it’s maddening, still has a sore spot where Michael used to be. And now Michael has a slump in his shoulders even as his eyes are sharp, and Meg can’t figure out how to untangle any of it.

Meg doesn’t end up answering the question at all, and eventually Michael lets it go.

“There’s just a few left,” he says finally. “You can head inside, I’ll finish up.”

“It’s quicker with two pairs of hands,” she answers, refusing to budge. She’ll be damned if she lets him send her off as soon as things get weird. Meg’s dealt with a lot of weird in her life. It’s not as if one awkward conversation is enough to scare her off. Not to mention the fact that she came out here to help in the first place. 

He starts to protest, and she plants her feet right there in the dirt and glares at him. If he thinks he can out-stubborn her, he’s got another thing coming.

They both know it’s not about the fruit.

He meets her eyes and must see the steel in them, because he shrugs instead of fighting her further. In the distance, the clouds get darker. They finish gathering the peaches in silence.

//

“So Michael said you two almost got a place together before he left the City.” Lindsay’s hands on the steering wheel are lax, but Gavin still feels a little threatened, or maybe just unnerved. It’s been a long time since he was alone with a stranger without Meg chatting away in his ear, plugged into camera feeds and keeping an eye on him. It’s hard, too, to know that she’s alone with Michael in the same way. He’s always been more comfortable when they can protect each other, and that’s almost always the case. This is practically uncharted territory, and the edge of uncertainty only adds to his anxiety.

Not to mention the fact that Lindsay is Michael’s wife, and he certainly doesn’t want to be talking about the fact that he and Michael were serious enough to move in together before it all went to hell.

He swallows. Out the window, the desert flies by, occasionally broken up by stretches of prairie, untouched by the bombings. “It’s been a long time,” he says.

Lindsay hums under her breath. He keeps noticing new things every time he looks at her--now, it’s the way she always looks like she’s smiling, even when she isn’t. She just has a countenance that wears amusement well. “Why did you stay?”

“Well,” says Gavin, taken aback, “that’s a bit of a personal question, don’t you think?”

Lindsay shrugs. “I was curious. I left, too, just a couple months after Michael. I’m not still in touch with anyone who stayed.” 

She takes a sudden left, and Gavin has to grab at the door handle to stay upright. “Didn’t feel like a choice at the time,” he says, caught off guard.

“What about it wasn’t a choice?”

He bristles. “It was the chance of a lifetime. I wasn’t gonna pass it up for nothing.”

“You gave them your life,” says Lindsay.

“I gave them my service,” retorts Gavin. “The rest was mine, not theirs.”

The next turn Lindsay takes puts them solidly in the city area, in front of a larger building advertising a fully serviced bar, and she pulls up in front of it. Gavin’s statement hangs heavy in the air before petering out into silence.

Lindsay gets out of the car. Gavin follows suit.

The building is stylized to look like it belongs in the Old West, and Gavin unwinds some of the tension in his shoulders so he can take it in properly. It’s about twice the size of the Jones house, and looks to be three stories high. “You’re a bartender?” asks Gavin.

Lindsay smiles, though it’s a little shaky still, half uncertain. Part of her is still in the car, having the conversation they didn’t finish. “Not quite.”

When they get inside, the first floor is, in fact, a bar. It’s not busy, but that’s probably because it’s only noon, and as far as Gavin’s been able to tell this settlement region is fairly empty anyway. Behind the bar, a man with long hair and a bright smile waves them over.

“Lindsay!” he says. “You’re early!”

“Hey, Jon,” she answers. “I was hoping to clock out a little earlier today. Michael and I have some guests staying with us. Don’t wanna leave them alone too long.”

Jon nods along eagerly. He seems affable, if a bit too cheery for Gavin’s current mood. “Well I’m Jon,” he says, extending a hand to Gavin, “and this Rooster Teeth’s bar. Best whiskey this side of the Mississippi, according to the boss man at least.”

Gavin double takes. “Did you say Rooster Teeth?”

“You’re familiar?” asks Jon.

Gavin nods. “Yeah,” he says slowly, “you could say that.” 

Meg, Gavin remembers, was seventeen when she lied about her age and started doing remote newscasting for a pro-Revolution corporation run by Burnie Burns. Rooster Teeth dropped off the map after the first round of bombings, too high-profile to continue operating out of Austin, and Meg moved permanently to San Antonio after convincing the Revolution to recruit her, first as a plant in the entertainment sector and then as a spy. Gavin thought the company was dead.

“Is Burnie here?” he asks. 

“Oh,” says Jon, “no, Burnie’s still MIA. He was in Austin last we talked to him, but you know how stuff is over there. The boss here is Geoff. Geoff Ramsey. He’s upstairs right now, working on some stuff.” A pause. “Dude, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Is everything okay?”

“Gavin?” asks Lindsay. She sounds concerned.

Gavin blinks out of his reverie, trying his best not to freak out. “Can I talk to him?” he asks, and can’t help how small his voice has gone. Christ alive, Geoff is _here_. What’re the odds of that? Must be slim to none. It’s hard to even believe that he’s not dreaming right now.

Gavin thought he was _dead_.

Jon and Lindsay are exchanging a series of complicated facial expressions in lieu of having an actual conversation. 

“We have to go upstairs anyway,” says Lindsay finally. “We’ll stop by his office.” 

“Okay,” says Gavin, numb.

Lindsay makes her way up the stairs. Gavin follows. On the wall in the stairwell, there’s a picture of Geoff and Griffon, and it’s cropped so that the third person is just a hand in the corner of the frame, barely noticeable unless you know what you’re looking for. He only pauses for a moment, then continues upward.

At the stop of the stairwell, a sign reads _ENTERTAINMENT OFFICES - NO ASSHOLES ALLOWED._ The second half has been crossed out with black marker and amended to say _ASSHOLES ONLY._ The Rooster Teeth logo is painted next to it, albeit rudimentarily, in all of its crude glory. Gavin smiles, just a little.

The second floor is busier than the first, ten or twelve people either sitting or walking around holding file folders. There are a few offices scattered around the edges of the space, but it’s mostly desks pushed together in groups and covered in different kinds of tech.

Gavin spares a moment to wonder if all of this is trackable - he can’t imagine it’s not, unless this company has the greatest hackers alive working 24/7 to keep them protected amidst the information broadcasting.

“Welcome to the entertainment branch,” says Lindsay. “We’re early, so we can see if Geoff’s around before I have to go into the booth.” She looks like she’s burning to ask a whole host of questions, but she restrains herself, surprisingly.

Gavin nods gratefully. “That’d be top, yeah.”

 _Top_ , mouths Lindsay to herself, brow furrowed. “Let’s go, then,” she says.

Geoff’s office is near the stairs, more or less in the center of one of the wider walls in this space. From the door, Gavin has a great view of the whole place, every section easy to see. The plaque on the door, when Gavin turns to actually read it, says _Geoff Ramsey, Head of Entertainment Operations._

Lindsay knocks. Gavin holds his breath. “One sec!” comes a voice from inside.

The Geoff that opens the door is more grizzled than Gavin remembers him, and his muscles are bigger. There are a few tattoos that are new, but his ice blue eyes are intensely familiar. He seems to recognize Gavin all at once, face slack with shock before he recovers.

“Well,” says Geoff, but he’s grinning, “shit on my dick! What the fuck are you doing here?”

Gavin grins back and lets himself be pulled into a hug. “It’s good to see you,” he says, muffled, into Geoff’s shoulder. He feels seventeen again, gangly and scared and completely unprepared for everything that’s to come. It’s maybe a weird thing to notice, but Geoff smells exactly the same.

“He was trekking through no-man’s-land unarmed,” offers Lindsay. “Michael dragged him and his partner inside.”

Geoff laughs. “Small fuckin’ world,” he says, disbelieving. “So what, you decided it was ‘bring your guest to work’ day?”

“Something like that,” answers Lindsay. “I need to go set up in the booth. Do you two want a minute?”

Geoff waves her off and goes to sit in the chair in the corner of the room, gesturing for Gavin to take the loveseat across from him. He pours himself a glass of whiskey, offering the same to Gavin, who refuses as politely as he can.

Geoff shrugs. “Suit yourself,” he says, then takes a swig. “So,” he continues, “when did you get in?”

It’s like he’s talking about a flight from England rather than a trek on foot from San Antonio, tone easy and casual. “Last night,” says Gavin. It’s hard to believe that it’s been less than a day when his world feels so thoroughly rocked. “How long have you been here?”

“Five or six years now,” says Geoff. “Me and Griffon settled down and then I got to work. First stop after I left was to set this place up with Jack.”

“How are you still operating?” asks Gavin. It’s been bugging him ever since he walked inside. “Burnie’s pro-Revolution, and this all looks pretty easy to find and target.”

“We’re non-political,” says Geoff, and there’s something under the surface, something more complicated. “Not like we used to be, at least. There’s nothing to target.”

His tone doesn’t broker a lot of argument there, so Gavin concedes. “I didn’t know you were out here,” he says, instead of arguing further. Maybe Geoff can tell him more later, or he can figure it out on his own. “Didn’t think we’d run into each other again.”

“Yeah,” says Geoff, and it sounds like he means more. “You grew up.”

“Little bit,” says Gavin.

Geoff smiles, shakes his head. “C’mon,” he says finally, standing up, “I’ll give you the grand tour.”

The tour consists of a lot of jargon that Gavin isn’t familiar with, and a lot that he is. The camera work is easy to understand, especially the more technical side of it, and he gets caught up chatting with a couple of the film crew at one point. The gaming side of it, though, he’s more or less helpless on outside of Peggle and Ultimate Billiards. 

“Yeah,” Geoff is saying as they walk into the empty sound booth, “today we’re mostly working on animated stuff, since the servers have been bitches and we can’t upload that much anyway. Plus, with the storm coming a lot of people took the day off to prep their homes for it. Is Michael gonna bring you in next time the weather’s clear?” 

Gavin double takes. “Michael works here too?”

“Yup,” says Geoff. “Has his own show and everything on the gaming side.” He sounds proud.

Gavin has seen Michael work as an electrician. It’s easy to remember his quiet focus, the steadiness of his hands. He’d never let Gavin get close because he knows Gavin’s clumsy and _I don’t want your ass to get fried, move it_. It was all wires and precision and calm in the face of danger. Michael at work is not chaos the way this office seems to be. Or he didn’t use to be, at least.

“I didn’t realize,” says Gavin. “But uh, no, I don’t think so. Meg and I are planning to leave soon, anyway.” He’s clinging to that, because everything else is too much to handle without their carefully laid plan falling to pieces more than it already has.

Geoff’s eyebrows lift to his hairline. “You just got here,” he protests. “Where the hell are you gonna go?”

“We can’t stay,” says Gavin. “In Austin-”

“Austin’s a warzone,” says Geoff. “You’re going from one powderkeg to another. Do you even know what you’re up against between here and there?”

Gavin can’t help but bristle. “Everyone keeps telling me that,” he says, “but I’m not a bloody teenager, Geoff. You said it yourself - I grew up. I worked as a spy for five years. It might be horrible, but I can’t just do _nothing_. Our assignment originally ended in Austin, anyway. There might be something there. We have to try.” His voice has gone pleading, undercutting some of the anger.

Geoff sighs. “There’s nothing there for you. Not the way you’re thinking. But hell, if you’re gonna be stubborn about it I can’t stop you. You at least need to say hi to Griffon before you leave. She’ll chop my dick off if she founds out I saw you and she didn’t.”

“Alright,” says Gavin. It’s an easy thing to agree to. He’s missed her, too.

“Plus,” says Geoff, “you can always stay with us if Michael’s being pissy. Guest room’s all yours, just gotta say the word. Anytime. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” says Gavin.

“Right?” repeats Geoff.

Gavin smiles, a little exasperated but mostly just grateful. “I said I know.”

“Good,” says Geoff, socking him in the shoulder. “Now, wanna watch Lindsay work? She’s fucking hilarious when she’s recording.”

//

A couple hours later, Gavin is saying goodbye to Geoff with a heavy heart. It’s hard to part ways when it feels like Gavin only just got him back. The past twenty-four hours have been loaded with ghosts from his past, it feels like, and it’s overwhelming.

Geoff, on the other hand, looks like he can tell that Gavin’s close to falling apart. “Come for dinner tomorrow,” he says. It isn’t phrased as a question. “Or after the storm passes, whatever.”

Gavin, a little bit helpless, says, “Okay.”

“Okay,” repeats Geoff, clapping him on the shoulder. He turns to Lindsay. “Take care of this fuckhead, alright? God knows why I care about him, but he’s sly like that, gets under your skin. A real piece of work.”

Lindsay smiles. “We’ll be fine,” she assures him.

She looks warm and confident, bouncing a little after her session in the booth, and Gavin still has no idea how he feels about her, or, more pressingly, how she feels about him. The relief of being with Geoff and knowing where he stands is starting to wane at the prospect of going back to the Jones household and walking on eggshells again.

Interesting eggshells, granted, and eggshells that for whatever reason mean a lot to him, but still.

“It’s fine,” Gavin agrees, because he can’t do anything else. “You’re embarrassing me, Geoff.”

Geoff, like the obnoxious prick that he is, ruffles Gavin’s hair and laughs. “You make it so easy, though.”

Gavin bats at his hand, and they exchange proper goodbyes. Gavin feels lighter than he did before, and it’s almost easy to jump back in Lindsay’s car after they leave. He only watches the building disappear in the distance for a few seconds, rearview mirror quickly becoming unusable in the heavy rain.

“I don’t think anyone’s going into work tomorrow,” comments Lindsay offhand. The sky is nearly black up ahead.

“Probably a good idea,” says Gavin. The last time he saw a storm this bad he’d been in a hotel room with Meg on the other side of a Skype call, the two of them balancing their laptops on their stomachs and chatting before falling asleep. The sky had been black then, too, but not nearly so frightening as it is now.

Silly as it may be, he silently urges Lindsay to drive just a little faster. He hasn’t seen Meg all day, and it wouldn’t hurt to be near her through this. It’d gotten them in a spot of trouble back at the academy, what with the two of them being so codependent that the Revolution started wondering if it was dangerous to have them on assignment together, but the fact of the matter is they’re no good apart, not like they are as a team.

The car rolls slowly on, avoiding potholes, and Gavin sighs and settles in for the ride.

//

Thunder cracks. The windows shake. Every year, Gavin forgets the sheer intensity of summer storms in Texas, so different from the sallow, constant rain of his childhood in England. There, the wind whipped cold and impersonal; here, it comes after you with a vengeance, fierce and unrelenting, like it’s determined to rattle you to your core.

“Looks like we’ll be stuck inside a while,” says Lindsay. No one answers, and she wrings her hands, glancing at Michael out of the corner of her eye. “I’ll put on a kettle.”

As she passes by, she puts a hand on Michael’s shoulder and squeezes, gently. “Thanks,” he murmurs. It sounds like he’s thanking her for more than just the kettle. Gavin averts his eyes. 

Lindsay walks out of the room, and he and Michael and Meg all stand in silence for a moment amidst the chaos of the storm outside. 

“Well,” says Meg, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, “looks like we’re not leaving until this passes.” Gavin hasn’t talked to her yet about the weird zigzag of his resolve, the way it peaks and fades faster than he can keep up with it. Regardless, they’re staying for a couple more days at least. There’s no making headway in weather like this.

Michael’s eyes go sharp. “Were you planning to?” He looks confused but calculating. “Do you seriously still have a fucking death wish?”

“We have a plan,” retorts Meg. She’s always been a firecracker, but Gavin’s surprised to see her so comfortable going toe to toe with Michael, wonders what they got up to earlier when they were alone. “We don’t need your help.”

“Without my help you’d be full of bullets right now!”

“We didn’t ask!” yells Meg, stepping toward Michael with her hands in fists at her side.

Michael is fuming, face getting red as he gets more worked up. “Maybe I don’t want you to die! Fucking sue me!”

“Right,” says Meg, voice turning sharp, mean. “Well I’m glad we could help you feel better about yourself, but this isn’t about keeping your conscience clean. If you wanna fix whatever happened between you two, _fine_ , but leave me out of it.”

Michael doesn’t look any less furious, but his tone does lower. “You know what? You’re right. Fuck this. You two can go on a suicide mission if you want, I don’t give a shit anymore.”

“Michael-” says Gavin, because that look in his eyes is still foreign, dark and hard and shining like obsidian, and Gavin hates it so much it makes his chest feel tight.

“Drop it,” cuts in Michael, “I’m done here,” and with that he turns around and storms outside, head braced against the whipping wind and rain.

The door slams shut behind him.

Meg’s still breathing heavy, but her expression is full of mixed emotion.

Lindsay, drawn out by the slamming door, walks into the room. When she sees Meg and Gavin alone, she sighs. “Well. Fuck. I’ll go get him. You,” she says, gesturing to Gavin, “watch the kettle.”

“Um,” says Gavin, “alright.”

Lindsay nods, businesslike, and follows her husband outside. Gavin’s half worried they’ll both be struck by lightning or bowled over by the torrential downpour, but he doesn’t voice his concerns. Something tells him Meg isn’t feeling particularly sympathetic to them right now.

The storm is still loud, wrapping itself unflinchingly around the house, but the silence in the room feels like a cloak muffling everything.

Gavin makes his way into the kitchen to escape it. The kettle hasn’t started to whistle, but it is sitting cheerily on the little gas stove, red with flowers on the outside of it. It looks homemade. A lot of things in this house are the same way, scrabbled together from resources Gavin knows are common around these parts. It’s a stark difference from Rooster Teeth’s Entertainment Wing, where there’s plenty of tech lying around and everything looks new and factory-made.

He feels Meg’s presence in the room before he hears her or sees her, just knows suddenly that he isn’t alone. “Hi,” he says, back still to her.

“I didn’t know he wanted us to stay so much. I thought he hated me, or you, or both of us.” She still sounds heated, but it’s tempered a bit, and there’s an edge of concern creeping into her tone.

Gavin shrugs a shoulder, turning and leaning against the counter. “He’s weird. Didn’t use to be this hard to read, honestly.”

“Was he always so shouty?”

Gavin laughs, can’t help it. “God, yeah.” It’s easier than admitting that the quiet is harder to bear.

“Huh,” says Meg, thoughtful and a bit thrown. 

Gavin turns back to the kettle when it starts to whine, escalating in pitch until it’s fully boiling. He takes it off the heat, pouring the water into the mugs that were left out to the side. It reminds him of being young, cliche as it is, pouring tea for his family before the world well and truly went to shit. 

There’s a bang coming from what sounds like the porch, and Meg startles, hand to her hip as she gathers herself. “Do you think that’s them?”

“I hope so,” says Gavin, but there’s no way to be sure. For all they know, it’s a group of anti-Revolution people who managed to track them and want them dead. Meg and Gavin aren’t the most prominent members of the Revolution, but they’ve upset a fair few people in their time as spies. “I’ll go check it out. Stay behind me.”

Meg laughs, rolls her eyes. “My hero.” It’s an old joke between the two of them. Gavin grabs a knife from the knife block, and Meg pulls a pistol out of her waistband.

“What?” she asks, when Gavin just looks at her. “It’s not my fault they don’t hide their weapons in this house.”

Gavin shrugs. Fair play. They walk to the front door together.

Another bang, then a thump against the exterior wall. There’s no window on this side of the house, so Gavin just looks to Meg, counts off _three, two, one_ , and cracks the door open to peek out.

The porch light is off, so it takes Gavin a second to process what he’s seeing. Michael has Lindsay pressed up against the outside of the house, hands framing her face as they kiss. Her hand is resting, incongruously gentle, on the plane of his chest. It’s almost unbearably intimate, and Gavin flushes, closing the door.

“What’d you see?” asks Meg.

“Nothing,” says Gavin, then pauses to correct himself. “It’s just Michael and Lindsay. They’re, uh- they’re fine. False alarm.”

Meg squints at him. “Alright,” she says.

Gavin nods awkwardly, then heads back into the house, away from the foyer. “Nothing to worry about,” he repeats, and knows it sounds forced. 

Meg doesn’t reply that time, just leaves him be.

//

Lindsay and Michael come in a few minutes later, mussed and dripping wet from the rain. Michael’s lips are a fierce red, and Gavin doesn’t watch as they walk past him and Meg into the kitchen.

“Tea’s ready,” he says as they turn the corner.

“Thank you,” comes Lindsay’s voice from the other room.

Meg frowns. “I left my mug in there.”

Gavin giggles at her disgruntled expression, can’t help it. “Better go grab it, then.”

As she walks into the kitchen, Michael walks out. Now that Gavin can look at him without blushing, he sees that Michael’s cheeks are less flushed, and he’s less tense all over. Maybe being out in the rain did him some good temper-wise.

Michael barely glances at Gavin, though. He just walks right by, back to his room, ostensibly to change clothes.

Gavin waits in the living room for Meg to come back, but she doesn’t, and when he goes into the kitchen he finds Lindsay standing there alone.

“Meg went to run a bath,” says Lindsay, nodding toward the other door in the kitchen, the one that leads back toward the guest room. 

“Alright,” says Gavin. The air’s still weirdly fraught in the wake of the explosive argument earlier, and Gavin’s never been good at navigating the aftermath of a fire, always ends up half-choking on the ash. Lindsay doesn’t look like she knows what to do any more than he does, which is a relief just as much as a disappointment.

It stays quiet for a few moments.

He thinks they’re going to sweep it all under the rug and be done with it, but then Lindsay sighs. “He hardly ever talks about you.”

Gavin blinks, nonplussed at the subject change. “Alright.”

“No,” says Lindsay, turning around. She grabs her own mug of tea, then Gavin’s, and holds his out to him. He takes it. “I mean, he doesn’t talk about any of it when he can avoid it, because I guess it’s the only thing he hasn’t been able to get out of his system through angry yelling, but he did mention you a few times.” 

He just looks at her, confused. It’s nice and all that his name came up even after everything, but he’s not going to jump for joy just because Lindsay had heard of him before he got here. If he really still mattered to Michael, then none of this would feel so fraught or awful or-

“It really fucked him up,” continues Lindsay, leaning back against the countertop. Her hair is still wet from getting caught in the storm. Her eyes are sleet gray. “I’ve only seen him cry twice. Once when we got news that New Jersey went under, and once after some Revolution recruiters found us out here and tried to get us to go back to the City. He got drunk as shit after and started talking about how he wasn’t sure if he should’ve left. How you must hate him, and you’d be right to.”

Gavin’s mouth feels very, very dry. “Oh,” he manages. 

Lindsay rubs a hand over her face. “He cares about you,” she says, then takes a breath. “That’s important. So you shouldn’t leave. You have to wait out the storm, obviously, but even after that. You should stick around a while, because I’m not sure he’ll be able to handle it if you disappear after all this.”

She says it so plainly that Gavin’s left dumbfounded. Part of him wants to snap back with a retort about disappearing and which one of them has experience with that, but he’s so tired of fighting.

“I-” he starts, then cuts himself off and tries again. “I have to talk to Meg.” They can’t stay forever, but he has no idea where she stands with all this, and he feels farther away from his previous staunch determination with every hour that passes here.

Lindsay nods, looks tired. “I think we should all talk,” she says.

It sounds awful and daunting and definitely like the right idea. 

“I don’t know what to say,” he admits. “Everything’s gotten so mixed up.”

“We can figure it out,” says Lindsay, tugging at the hem of her damp shirt. It breaks some of the severity of her appearance, and before Gavin’s eyes she shifts from judge, jury, and executioner to a tired woman extending an olive branch. “Just promise you won’t leave until we all get the chance to sit down together.” 

Gavin tries to take a second to think about it, but for all that he’s awful at staying he thinks he could get quite good at making excuses not to leave. “Of course,” he tells her.

She looks at him like she’s sizing him up. Like she doesn’t believe him. He can’t bring himself to blame her for it.

“I’m gonna see if Michael needs help with the fire,” she says finally.

“Alright,” says Gavin.

Outside, the storm rages on.

//

The fire is a little sad, sputtering every few minutes because some of the wood was damp, but it’s strong enough to keep the room lit and provides some warmth, so that’s good enough for the lot of them. Michael has taken to staring angrily into it, orange light flickering against his face. It makes him look softer even despite the severe line of his jaw. He has a towel wrapped around his shoulders, and his hair has finally stopped dripping water onto the floor.

Meg and Lindsay are both sitting on the worn couch, Lindsay’s hair pulled back from her face, Meg with her legs crossed and her socked feet tucked under her legs. Gavin himself is sitting on the floor, near Michael but not so close that he’ll be yelled at for it.

The silence is tense. The room is still drafty, and the rain is still pounding at the house, albeit less violently than before. 

“D’yknow how Meg and I met?” Gavin asks, voice quiet but still almost startlingly loud in the space.

Michael rolls his eyes. “You two were fancy spy partners, we fucking know.”

Lindsay shoots him a look, but it seems to roll right off of him. He looks like a caged animal waiting to strike. Maybe his tantrum earlier didn’t burn the anger off after all.

It’s alright. Gavin can be patient enough for the both of them if he puts his mind to it. “We knew each other before that,” he says mildly. “They didn’t partner us together by accident. We requested it.”

Meg smiles, shaking her head. “You’re making it sound so dramatic.”

“Oh,” says Gavin, sarcastic, “sorry, did you want to tell it?”

“No,” says Meg, “you’re fine. You gotta get to the point, though.”

Gavin rolls his eyes but smiles back. He has no idea what he’d do if Meg weren’t here to bounce off of, this back and forth so familiar to them now that he barely has to pay attention. “We met while I was still working in the media sector,” says Gavin. “She’d just moved from LA. I was filming a commercial for something, and she was one of the talent, so we got to chatting a bit between breaks. She thought I was hitting on her.”

Meg leans forward, bits of hair falling into her eyes. “You totally were.”

“Maybe a little,” allows Gavin. “Anyway, I thought she was cool and fit, and she didn’t think I was a total bellend, so we kept in touch.” Gavin doesn’t say that it was an immense relief to be close to someone again when it felt like everyone he loved was leaving. Michael and Ray, Geoff and Griffon, all carried away from the City as the Revolution started to heat up. Part of him, he knows, should have been grateful that they were trying to stay safe, but the awful selfish bits of him couldn’t be truly happy about any of it. Meeting Meg was a game-changer. Keeping her, by some miracle, is the best thing Gavin’s ever done.

“Exciting story,” says Michael sarcastically, but some of his edge has softened. He doesn’t look ready to bolt anymore. “Really top.”

“No more exciting than how we met,” says Gavin. Knows it’s a risk.

Michael’s gaze turns to him, sharp. Maybe he’s remembering, too.

The day Michael and Gavin met really was nothing special. They were neighbors, is all. Kept running into each other in the hallway until Michael finally broke the ice, came over one day asking if Gavin’s power was out too. “Yup,” Gavin had said, and they exchanged numbers.

It took months for them to really start talking, but once they did…they just never stopped. They were friends before they fell into bed together, acquaintances before they were friends, and neighbors even before that. It was exactly that simple, and exactly that complicated.

Gavin remembers a lot. Remembers laughter, and sitting shoulder to shoulder, and movie nights, and hands tracing paths of searing heat across bare skin-

“How did you and Lindsay meet, Michael?” asks Meg.

Unexpectedly, Lindsay and Michael both start laughing. “We have different answers,” Lindsay explains, still smiling. She’s looking at Michael, expression almost unbearably fond.

“It’s not meeting someone if you talk to them for two seconds!” argues Michael. “We met because I needed a ride home from work. I stayed late, and Geoff told me to just walk, but it was cold and Lindsay offered to drive me. That was the real meeting, the other thing is bullshit.”

“Not bullshit,” says Lindsay, but she’s still smiling, posture easy. Gavin has a feeling it would take a lot to rile her up. Even when he himself has had tense moments with her, they’ve been on the mellow end. “But yeah, if you don’t count the first time where he basically just ignored me, I drove him home, and we became good friends, and then started dating. Not super exciting.”

Meg shifts on the couch. “Well,” she says, “Michael, looks like you and I have the most exciting story.”

“Hey,” protests Gavin, barely even thinking about it. “Lindsay and I have, like, the same one. Maybe even better.”

“Yeah,” agrees Lindsay. “Screw you guys.”

Michael splutters. “Screw us? Screw you!” 

The argument dissolves into laughter, and Gavin feels something ease in his chest for the first time since he got here, some unlikely sense that maybe everything will be alright. That no matter where the future takes them, this moment will always exist exactly as it does now. Meg’s bright eyes, Michael’s reckless smile, Lindsay’s easy laughter. Gavin, sitting on the living room floor next to the dying fire, nearly fearless.

//

That night, curled up in bed across from each other like quotation marks, Meg and Gavin fall asleep listening to the sheets of rain crashing against the roof. Gavin wants to say he spent the time before he fell asleep thinking about their plan, about leaving, about cutting ties and cauterizing the wound before sleep carried him off.

Gavin wants a lot of things, though, and for all that he’s wishful he’s not in the habit of lying to himself. 

//

The next day, the storm clears, and Michael and Lindsay agree to visit the Ramseys in the evening. The morning and afternoon are quiet, no one quite willing to start anything so soon after the last blow up, and Gavin spends most of the late afternoon helping Michael rebuild some of the downed fences at the perimeter of the property. There’s just one other property nearby, far away enough that Gavin has to squint to even catch sight of it, but apparently these parts are dangerous. Gavin doesn’t know what a fence will do, really, but he doesn’t ask.

Later that day, they pile into the car and go to Geoff and Griffon’s house for dinner.

Griffon gets teary-eyed when she sees Gavin, pulling him immediately into a hug so suffocating he has to tap out, wheezing her name until she lets go.

Her eyes are shining when they pull back, and Gavin has to push at her shoulder. “Stop it with the waterworks, then, or you’ll get me going.” It’s a moot point, though, because suddenly he’s feeling quite weepy as well. His eyes are dry, but his heart is trying to beat out of his chest, a waterfall of emotion crashing into him all at once.

“We didn’t think we’d see you again,” says Griffon thickly. “You owe me as many hugs as I want.”

Gavin notices quickly that the room has emptied to just the two of them and Geoff, who’s standing in the back grinning, arms crossed as he watches them. Gavin doesn’t think he can be blamed for being so emotional when it feels, very suddenly, like they’re a family again. Gavin lived with these two for years before he properly joined the Revolution, working in entertainment and coming home to the little studio apartment in their backyard that he used mostly just to sleep. Nearly all of his waking hours at home were spent in the main house. He’s had to work hard to forget it, just because the remembering made everything else so difficult. Now, though, the floodgates are opened, and it _aches_.

That house was lost in the second round of bombings in the City, years ago. Before Gavin knew Geoff and Griffon were still alive and well, he practically treated the site like their grave, even brought flowers once.

It’s embarrassing in hindsight, but whatever. He’s here now. They all are.

“So,” says Griffon, once Gavin’s more or less out of his reverie. She’s pulled back a bit, but she’s still holding onto his arms. “How is it staying with them?”

Geoff steps out of the room at that, to just out of earshot. Gavin can still see him talking to the others in the doorway in his peripheral vision.

“It’s good,” says Gavin.

Griffon frowns at him severely enough that he stops in his tracks. “Be honest,” she says. “Good doesn’t tell me anything.”

Gavin had nearly forgotten Griffon’s aggressive sincerity, her determination to make other people keep up with her. It makes him feel hot, exposed. “It’s weird,” he says, after a pause. “I don’t know. Our plan was just to go to Austin and now… we’ve been here a few days. I have no idea what we’re doing, or why we’re still here, or what we’re hoping to accomplish. It’s a mess.”

Griffon is watching him carefully. “Not to overstep,” she says, “but I can think of a couple of reasons you’re still here.” She glances at where Michael, Meg, and Lindsay are talking to Geoff in the next room.

Talking about this to virtually anyone else would be like pulling teeth for Gavin, or worse, but Griffon coached him through his first sexuality crisis, and then again when he got offered a full time position in espionage. Gavin didn’t even tell Michael, who was ostensibly his boyfriend at the time, about all of his doubts and fears. It was Griffon who, at two in the morning, poured him a hot chocolate with whiskey and sat with him until his hands stopped shaking. Griffon, in the end, who reminded him in no uncertain terms that he wanted this, and that it was important, and that he really was never considering turning it down to begin with.

“I guess,” Gavin ultimately settles on. “It was hard. I thought you guys were-” He cuts himself off.

Griffon rubs his arm comfortingly. “I know, sweetie. But we’re fine, and you are too. It seems like everything is urgent because you’re stressed out, but you don’t have to have all of the answers yet. It’s okay.”

Gavin left his family in England when he was practically still a kid, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and looking for a change. All the family he’s known since then is in this house right now. He’d forgotten, somehow, how easy it is to feel safe with Griffon, and with Geoff too.

He pulls off his jacket. He hadn’t needed it, really, since it’s actually quite hot outside, but he wasn’t sure it wouldn’t rain on them at some point, and it made him feel better to have sleeves to fiddle with on the drive over.

“I’m trying to be okay with that,” he says after another pause. “You know me. Bad at winging it where it counts.”

Griffon smiles fondly, ruffles his hair. “Can’t plan for everything,” she says.

“You can damn well try,” he replies as he ducks out of the way, but it’s soft, he’s smiling, anyone could look at him and see concession in his expression. 

“Dinner will be ready in a few minutes,” she tells him. “Go join the others, I’ll call you in when it’s ready.”

“Need any help?”

She shakes her head. “Go,” she says, pushing at him, so he goes.

The group is laughing when he joins them, Lindsay with a hand over her heart, Geoff practically squeaking. “I know!” Meg is saying. “It’s not all glitz and glamor, okay? I thought spying would be like, eighty percent sneaking into fancy parties, at _least_.”

“Eighty percent,” wheezes Michael through laughter. “Jesus Christ.”

“I was young!” cries Meg. “I watched a lot of spy movies! It looked fun!”

A piece of her hair slips out from where she’d tucked it behind her ear, so Gavin reaches out and fixes it for her. She’s magnetic when she’s like this - the center of a room, center of attention, self-deprecating and utterly confident at the same time. It’s a miracle she ever saw anything in him, and even more of a miracle that she still does.

She turns to him, beams. “You gotta tell them about that time you hid in the lettuce in a supermarket, do you remember?”

Gavin splutters. “Of course I remember, it was horrible!”

Geoff eggs him on, so of course Gavin has to tell the story. He was twenty-three, still low enough in the ranks that he was assigned the less important targets, but at least they weren’t keeping him behind cameras anymore. It was nice to be in the field; the entertainment department, while fun, had none of the visceral, innately practical feeling that came with honest-to-god espionage. Like Meg said, though, it wasn’t all glamorous. In fact, very little of it was glamorous.

Getting assigned a target in a grocery was one of the least glamorous assignments Gavin ever got. It was simple, really - just a bog standard hit, get in and get out without being spotted. The supervisor for the mission recommended poison, so Gavin had a syringe in his pocket and was waiting for the best opportunity to strike.

“Target is in the bread aisle,” Meg said into his ear. She sounded far too amused for a serious mission, so Gavin looked toward a security camera and rolled his eyes as dramatically as he could without drawing attention from the other patrons.

He followed the direction dutifully all the same, though, meandering toward the bread and keeping a careful eye out. This was his first foray into actually eliminating a target, and he was rather nervous about it. “Got him,” murmured Gavin into the nearly invisible mic at his lapel.

Meg made a little hum of acknowledgement. “Alright, Gavino, it’s showtime. You have thirty minutes to grab his phone and finish the hit.”

He nodded, sure a camera somewhere would pick up the movement, and went into action. After all the training he’d undergone, it was practically second nature to bump into his target, a middle-aged man with an unfortunate hairline and weak jaw, and nick his phone from his pocket while stuttering apologies. Gavin’s clumsiness is only calculated about half the time, but his lanky limbs and general air of incompetence afforded him a lot of liberties in the field. 

“Well done,” Meg said into his ear. “The tricky part is going to be getting close enough to him again to inject the-” “Already done,” Gavin interrupted, walking briskly away from the target and his bodyguard. “Got him in the wrist just now.”

Meg whistled, low and impressed, and he fought the urge to wink at the camera. No use risking anything now. His goal was to get to the extraction vehicle and get out before the target fell. This mission had gone exactly to plan — only a handful of meters separated him from the front of the store. Just as he was passing the produce, though, his comm crackled back to life. “Find cover,” said Meg, urgent, all traces of joking stripped clean from her voice. “ _Now_ , Gavin. Get out of sight, I don’t care how.”

Gavin trusted her enough not to question it, knew that sometimes the factor between life or death could be a handful of seconds.

He did the first thing he could think of, the words _out of sight_ ringing in his head: he dove headfirst into the lettuce and started burying himself beneath the heads.

Meg, to her credit, didn’t start laughing until she was sure he was hidden and the invading mercenaries barrelled straight past him. Once the coast was clear, though, he could practically hear her crying with laughter from her chair in the tech room. “The _lettuce_?” she demanded. “Gav, oh my god. You’re clear, go, but oh my god.”

He got up and sprinted out of the store, making a beeline for the extraction vehicle at the end of the lot. Miraculously, he’d gone unspotted, and he clambered in the backseat as quickly as possible. “It worked, didn’t it?” he asked, breathless with adrenaline.

“Yeah,” said Meg, “I’m glad your head didn’t get blown off, I just- you’re insane.”

“Still glad you’re my partner?” Gavin asked, grinning because he already knew the answer.

He could practically feel Meg rolling her eyes, but she still indulged him. “Wouldn’t wanna work with anyone else.”

The debrief for that mission is still one of the most embarrassing things he’s had to do to date, and he swore to himself he wouldn’t relive it again if he could help it, but the audience here has been hanging on his every word, and he can’t say he regrets telling the story.

“That’s really creative, Gavin,” says Lindsay, and she sounds at least ninety percent sincere, eyes bright and encouraging. “Unorthodox, but…”

Michael scoffs, but he’s grinning. Gavin’s heart tries very hard not to flip over itself at their approval, especially since Meg’s fond glance at him on top of everything else makes it a near impossible task.

“I was picking leafy greens out of my hair for _days_ ,” he laments, and it sends the group into another wave of laughter. 

That’s when Griffon comes and grabs them for dinner, and of course the first course has to be salad. Of course it does.

//

Later that night, they’re sitting around the fire pit in the backyard, which is really just a glorified hole in the ground that Griffon apparently has big plans for once she finishes her other five ongoing renovation projects. Meg is leaning against Gavin’s shoulder, her eyes drooping, and on Gavin’s other side Geoff is animatedly telling the story of how he hit a deer and ran it over twice just to make sure it wasn’t suffering.

Gavin has to fight not to retch at that, and mostly succeeds. “You’re bloody gross,” he says.

Griffon jumps in with, “Better than to let it suffer,” and Geoff agrees readily, glad to have someone on his side.

Michael’s scrunching up his face in disgust, though, and when he meets Gavin’s eyes it’s almost like they’re twenty again, commiserating about the landlord. Or twenty-one again, silently discussing the City Leader’s incompetence in the main square during one of his more extravagant speeches. Or twenty-two again, at a bar, Gavin contorting his brow into a _let’s get out of here_ and Michael smirking like _hell yeah, take me home._

Gavin almost wants to say something, except what would he even say? I still miss you? I don’t know how I went this long without you? He’d get laughed out of the house, or worse. The moment passes.

That moment passes, at least, but another one comes hot on its heels, Geoff having noticed the way they were looking at each other. “Man,” says Geoff, not knowing that he’s holding a ticking bomb in his hands, “I remember when you were all Gavin used to talk about.”

Michael blinks. “Me?”

“No,” answers Geoff sarcastically, “the other douchebag who was friends with him before Griffon and I left the City.”

“Meg knew him,” protests Michael.

Meg stirs from where she’d been half asleep. “You callin’ me a douchebag?” she mumbles.

“No,” says Michael, and then pouts the way he does when he knows he’s lost. “Anyway, whatever, obviously Gavin was obsessed with me. Who wouldn’t be?” It’s an impressive attempt at bravado. If Gavin didn’t still know Michael so well, he’d have missed the way his eyes dart down as he talks, like he’s trying not to remember anything from back then too vividly. 

Geoff laughs. “Sure,” he says, “you’re a fucking delight, kid.”

“Not a kid,” complains Michael.

“Mmmmhm,” agrees Geoff patronizingly.

Gavin is a bit fascinated by their relationship, honestly. It’s probably an unfair way to think about it, but Michael and Geoff were both Gavin’s first. It’s interesting to see the ways they’ve fallen together while Gavin wasn’t around to watch it happen.

“I think it’s sweet,” cuts in Griffon, halting the banter. “That the two of you were so close, I mean. And now you’re in the same place again. Kind of like fate, in a way.”

“Fate,” repeats Gavin, aiming for derisive and ending up somewhere between disbelieving and dazed.

Michael rolls his eyes. “Or like he’s an idiot and I’m a good person.”

“Well...” muses Lindsay.

“Don’t tell me you’re starting with that hippie bullshit, too,” says Michael.

Lindsay puts her hands up in universal surrender. “I’m just saying, it is a weird coincidence. Texas is huge, and everything has been batshit crazy here. Even trying to find someone else on purpose is hard, and you guys just stumble across each other? It’s weird.”

“Whatever,” says Michael, brushing it off. There’s something in his eyes, so subtle Gavin might be imagining it. Still, if he’s feeling the way Gavin is, his heart must be stuck in his throat. If it was an accident that they collided again, then it was certainly a lucky one. If not...yeah, it’s ‘hippie bullshit,’ but it’s hard not to think about what it might mean.

Meg is still dozing on Gavin’s shoulder, breath soft in the crook of his neck. The fire is low and crackling, and the light reflects sweetly in Lindsay’s blue eyes, warmer now than Gavin has seen them. This backyard feels more like home than it has any right to.

Gavin takes another sip of his beer and shuts his eyes, just for a moment.

//

They end up staying the night; the Ramseys have more than enough room to put them all up, and when Gavin wakes up Meg is gone. He’s used to her sleeping in, to waking up with her hair in his face, but this trip has thrown them both off-schedule. Maybe it should come as no surprise that her timing has changed.

He feels rested, safe. Geoff has always been closer to a big brother figure than a father to Gavin, really, but even just knowing he’s around has eased some of the anxiety that comes with the life of a spy. Being constantly on edge is draining, and it only got worse after he moved out to live by himself.

He rolls out of bed, stretches, and follows the smell of breakfast cooking to the kitchen, where he finds Meg and Michael leaning against the counter talking to Griffon. Meg’s gaze cuts to Gavin sharply, but her posture doesn’t change even as the three of them quiet.

“Morning,” he tells the group. 

Griffon is the first to answer. “Morning, lazybones. Sleep okay?”

“Slept great,” he says. “That guest bed’s lush.” He wants to ask what they were discussing before he got up, but he’s not sure he’d get an answer, and it doesn’t seem worth it to rock the boat practically before the day’s even started.

“Good,” says Griffon. She hands him a cup of coffee, which he accepts gratefully. “Michael was just telling me you all were planning on going home soon.”

“Were we?” asks Gavin mildly.

Meg glances at him but doesn’t say anything. Michael takes another sip of coffee. “Yeah,” he says, “we’ve got shit to do. If you guys wanna walk eight miles back, sure, otherwise we’ll be out of here as soon as Lindsay’s ready.”

Gavin glances down at his borrowed pyjama bottoms, how they sit loose around his hips. Thinks about his rumpled clothes on the floor of the guest bedroom. Irritation prickles at his skin, but he’s still tired enough that he doesn’t have the energy to fully press it. “Right,” he says, slow, even. “Well in that case, I’ll just be packing up, won’t I.”

Michael catches his eye, and that’s a familiar look: half _this isn’t a fight I want to start_ and half _but if you do want to fight I won’t back down_. 

Gavin telegraphs back _not worth the effort, really_.

They’re gone within half an hour. Geoff and Griffon and their house disappear alarmingly quickly in the rearview, and Gavin has to fight down the irrational urge to ask Lindsay to turn around and leave him there, just for another day. 

The car is near silent save for the buzz of the tires on the road. The radio’s off, the windows up. The storm is long since gone, leaving the sky a milky blue, like the clouds couldn’t be bothered to gather but instead spread thinly across everything, a penetrable veil that is no less visible for how much light slips through.

Meg tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear, then does it again when it slips back out.

Gavin stares hard out the window and thinks about what’ll happen when the quiet finally buckles in on itself.

Soon, he figures. It’ll be soon.

//

All the rest of the day, Meg keeps sending Gavin these inscrutable glances, like she’s trying to figure something out. It drives him a little mad, but he doesn’t say anything yet. If it was that important, she’d have said something by now. Meg’s not one to sit on information, and the two of them are used to being each other’s informants. It must be something subtler.

He waits her out, and, like usual, his patience wins out over hers. She ends up cornering him in the guest bedroom ( _their_ bedroom by now, whispers part of Gavin’s brain, the same part that unpacked their emergency bags and tucked their contents into the closet).

“You and Michael,” starts Meg, faltering.

Gavin can’t say he’s surprised that this is where she’s decided to start. “Me and Michael...?” he prompts.

She runs a hand through her hair, a nervous tick she picked up from him. “You two- you were dating?” asks Meg. She sounds surprised, but there’s an edge in her voice, too, like now that the pieces are falling together it actually made sense all along. 

Gavin swallows hard. Again, not surprising, but no less easier to confront. “In a matter of speaking,” he hedges. 

What he and Michael were to each other is hard to define. Boyfriends seems entirely too silly and mundane to encapsulate what they were, especially at their brightest. They were in some kind of relationship, yes. Lovers, too, sure — it’s hard not to let his mind get caught there, Michael’s big hands and the summer their aircon went out, everything slow and hot and impossible to forget…. They were each other’s dates to every party, practically attached at the hip for nearly a year and a half, and they were linked in all spaces. You couldn’t mention one without the other. You couldn’t conceptualize a future like this, where everything broke down before they could make it out the other side, where they ended not in a blowout yelling match like Gavin secretly thought they might on the worst nights, but in a puff of smoke and a muffled sob, Gavin sitting alone on the porch step with his head in his hands. They were star-crossed, a tragic ballad, a storybook romance turned heartbreak turned something else entirely.

Mostly, though, Michael was just Gavin’s favorite person. Some days, unfairly, even now, he still is. 

“Huh,” says Meg, thoughtful.

“I thought I’d mentioned it before,” he says, because he’s sure he’s said some humiliatingly earnest things while drunk.

Meg shrugs a shoulder. “I could never tell if you were serious, or if it was just an almost that turned bad, and I didn’t want to ask. You seemed sad.”

Sad, thinks Gavin. Yeah, maybe a fair assessment.

“Guess we both moved on, though,” says Gavin, flicking his eyes down. It seems unfair to hash out his past relationship issues with his current girlfriend, and Michael’s bloody married, for Christ’s sake.

Meg just hums, though, noncommittal, and they leave it there.

//

Late the next evening, Lindsay asks Gavin if he’d like to accompany her on some errands in town.

“Me?” he asks. They haven’t exactly been fighting the whole time they’ve know each other, but Gavin still feels a bit uneasy around her, like she’s judging him for something but he can’t figure out exactly what or why.

Lindsay nods, though. “Michael would rather shoot himself than go to town this late, I’m pretty sure,” she explains, “and Meg’s sleeping. I can go alone, I’d just rather not. It can be a boring drive by yourself.”

Gavin doesn’t know how he’s going to be able to entertain her, but he figures he’s got nothing to lose. Meg and Michael have been getting along fine, so this might be the last step in making the house feel less suffocating with all four of them there. It could be dangerous to get comfortable, maybe, but Gavin’s tired of denying himself things like this. 

As they’re about to get in the car, Lindsay offers Gavin the keys.

Gavin smiles. “Can’t drive,” he says. “Never learned how.”

Lindsay’s eyes widen. “Oh,” she says, “wow, okay. Wouldn’t have guessed. I thought I was being rude not offering earlier but I guess it didn’t matter. Did you never want to learn, or?”

They climb in. “Didn’t have any reason to,” answers Gavin as he puts his seatbelt on. “In England I just walked everywhere — I lived round the corner from school and work — and here, um. If I needed to go anywhere, Michael used to drive me, actually. And then later we just had drivers for missions anyway.”

“You and Meg,” says Lindsay, “are you still with the Revolution? Meg mentioned you’re not on any missions right now, but will you go back?”

“I don’t know,” answers Gavin honestly. “Probably not, but it’s hard to tell. If they want me back, I’ll probably go, but for now we’re done. We were planning to move on to Austin and see what work there is, but…” he trails off, waving a hand indistinctly. They still haven’t actually solved anything, and there’s no official end date stamped onto their time here yet, but it’s still confusing to talk about. 

Lindsay nods, adjusts the rearview mirror. “I don’t really get it,” she says, candid, “but everyone’s loyal to something, I guess.”

“And you?” asks Gavin. “What are you loyal to?”

It’s a gutsy question, but it doesn’t really feel like one with the night softening everything. Lindsay’s shoulders don’t tense as she answers. “People, mostly. Michael first, but Geoff and Griffon too. Jack who lives down the way. My friend Ryan, when we worked together.”

“Geoff and Griffon were the first people I met here,” offers Gavin. “Before I was a spy, I was just a camera operator. They helped me get on my feet out here.”

“They’re good people,” answers Lindsay.

“I met a lot of good people in the City,” says Gavin. “Ones I worked for and ones I didn’t. That’s why I was loyal to the Revolution. It’s not just a disembodied thing, it’s _people_.”

“I just don’t get how you trusted them so easily,” Lindsay says, and that right there feels like the crux of the matter. “There were all these- stories of people getting hung out to dry, practically thrown out with the trash, and you still… it’s just hard for me to understand.”

Gavin chews on the inside of his cheek for a second before answering. “Those stories,” he says, “they sucked, yeah. But it was bigger than that for me. I couldn’t let a couple little things get in the way of the big picture.”

Lindsay nods. “It wasn’t personal for you,” she says slowly. Her tone is loaded with an implication Gavin is having a hard time picking apart.

“Not really,” he answers. “Was it for you?”

Lindsay takes the turn slowly, checking her shoulder, and when she speaks she’s not looking at Gavin at all. “I was a runner. They canceled my extraction while I was halfway between the City and Austin, not far from here actually. If my partner hadn’t been there with me I probably would’ve been taken in by the authorities for questioning at least, maybe worse. I don’t know where he is now, or if he’s even still alive. He bought me enough time to get out.” 

Gavin’s seatbelt feels too tight. “Oh,” he says.

“Yeah,” answers Lindsay, quieter now. “I know I didn’t really give you a fair shot at first. It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s just hard for me to- I don’t know.”

Gavin is realizing very quickly that when they got here he didn’t just dredge up the past for Michael, that Lindsay’s been carrying a heavy weight of what used to be, too. Lindsay was Revolution. It seems like an earth-shattering revelation, but it shouldn’t have been if he considers her demeanor, the way she looks at him like something confusing but familiar. Gavin thinks maybe he’d have figured it out sooner if he’d been less self-righteous this whole time.

“I get it,” he says after a moment. “It makes sense. The Revolution wasn’t all good all the time.” He weighed the costs and benefits and ended up on the other side of things, but it doesn’t mean he can’t try to understand. He finds it easier than he expected to sympathize with her.

Lindsay nods, though there’s still some tension leftover in her shoulders and jaw line. “Right.” It’s quiet.

They don’t keep talking about it as they pick through the open market, vendors avoiding traditional supermarkets because of how expensive it’s gotten to work through them in the midst of all this war. It’s livelier at night, people adjusting to avoid dealing with the heat. The markets open early, then take a break for the sunniest parts of the day and come back late. This way, more people from the area can attend before or after working either at a company or on their plots.

Come autumn, Michael and Lindsay will have a little stall set up with some of the dried produce and late summer and early fall vegetables they’ve been tending in the fields. It would be nice to see it, thinks Gavin, amidst the old-fashioned lanterns lighting the barren plot of land on which the market is located. He dispels the thought as efficiently as he can, which is to say, not very efficiently at all.

Gavin holds up a small stuffed kitten, and Lindsay grins, making grabby hands. He buys it for her and feels that much farther away from the person he used to be.

//

Some days pass, and then a few more, and then it’s been two weeks and Gavin and Meg are still living with the Joneses. They don’t talk about staying properly, but they don’t leave, and that’s about as close to an agreement as Gavin is willing to concede right now. It’s hard to know where he’s supposed to be going when everything he’s known is behind him. Gavin hasn’t been in entirely uncharted territory since he was seventeen years old. He’s always had a plan, and he’s so far from being that kid — now a decade removed from that perilous cross-Atlantic voyage — that he hardly recognizes the version of himself that lives on in the stories they’ve been telling.

The past is a neutral ground. The past happened, and it’s not in question, and the feelings it brings up are nothing compared to the permafrost that’s seemingly beneath their feet at all times these days. The unspoken instability is treacherous enough to make sure they’re watching where they step.

Gavin, an early riser, goes with Lindsay to work in the mornings. He’s yet to see Michael there. He asks about it one day between takes in the booth, sprawled out lazily next to one of the directors as Lindsay flips through her neatly highlighted script.

“He records after hours in bursts every few weeks,” she explains. “You know how loud he is. It messes up other recordings sometimes.”

“Who’s even watching this?” asks Gavin. “Like, where are you broadcasting to? Or who’s pulling up the videos in the first place? The City was so locked down when I left we barely had internet, and we weren’t using it for entertainment.”

“You weren’t, maybe,” says Lindsay. “We broadcast to whoever will have us. Europe and Asia, mostly, a lot of our numbers come from there. Canada, too, and Australia. Plus, you’d be surprised how many Americans will look for something funny when they’re under an authoritarian stranglehold.”

“Huh,” he says. “I guess so. The work I did in the entertainment sector was mostly promotional material.”

Lindsay smiles, and it looks tired. “Propaganda.”

“Not propaganda,” argues Gavin, but Lindsay just shakes her head, doesn’t press the point. It’s fascinating to Gavin to see the ways she pushes and pulls, how sometimes she’ll pick a fight and other times she seems completely unflappable. “It was good,” he finishes lamely. “It felt like it mattered at the time, and I think it did.”

“You did what you thought was right,” says Lindsay. There’s weight to the way she says it, contradicting the wild mess of her hair post-booth. “I respect that. And I’m sorry I didn’t give you or Meg a fair shake at first.”

“I get why you didn’t,” answers Gavin, and finds himself meaning it. “And anyway, I’ve been told I’m a bit of a prick sometimes, so…”

Lindsay smiles, and Gavin smiles back, and this thing between them feels easier than it did before.

//

Meg has gotten very good at coexisting with Michael. She’s not sure how it happened, exactly, but while Gavin goes to Rooster Teeth with Lindsay to see Geoff and geek out over fancy cameras, she and Michael stay at the house and do more hands-on work to keep them all alive, and for whatever reason this routine of theirs makes perfect sense.

Today, they're doing prep work for lunch and dinner for next week, things that can be frozen and saved so they don't have to go to the bigger corporate markets and deal with the wildly fluctuating prices. 

“So have you always done most of the cooking?” asks Meg lightly as she chops some carrots.

Michael, next to her, is cubing potatoes. “I guess,” he answers. “Lindsay does too sometimes, she’s just been super busy ever since her show hit Japan.”

Meg is surprised, sometimes, that the entertainment industry still exists. It makes sense, considering how dismal things are globally and especially here, but it’s hard to reconcile anime with bombings, video games with an authoritarian regime, animated shorts with a revolution. Everything works in tandem, even when it seems like it shouldn’t.

She’s been quiet for long enough that Michael starts talking again. “This stuff,” he says, “I mean, the cooking, and the cleaning, and the farming…I try to do stuff that helps me feel grounded. When I first got here, I was kind of a mess. But even when I was still working for an electrician, I figured out how to settle down. In the City, I- you know Gavin. He doesn’t sit still. I tried to keep up with him, but I couldn’t do it forever.”

Meg nods. “I like crossword puzzles,” she offers. “And stuff like Sudoku, and embroidery. Little things I can do with my hands. It was nice when I had access to it more. I have a lot of energy, but you have to slow down sometimes or it’ll drive you crazy.”

“Yeah,” agrees Michael. “You wanna help me with this? I still need to slice the peppers and onion.” He jerks his head to where the washed vegetables are sitting on the counter, right next to a knife and chopping board, like he was expecting to share the job with someone from the get go. Meg tries not to let herself feel a little special, but it’s a moot point, because she loves feeling special and it’s not like there’s anyone else around. 

She picks up the knife and starts on the first bell pepper, taking it slow as she remembers the motions. It’s been a while since she’s done this. “I’ve been doing some basic yoga at sunrise when I can get myself to get up. I was planning to go tomorrow if you want to join. It’s really nice.”

“Yoga,” Michael mutters, laughing a little. “Of course you have. Fuck, maybe I will.”

“Maybe you will,” echoes Meg, smiling back, and thinks she’ll wake him up herself if he doesn’t show.

//

The next day, after sunrise yoga, Michael _I hate driving and spending money on anything that’s not a necessity_ Jones drives to the market and brings back a book of crosswords. He doesn’t mention it at lunch, so Meg doesn’t bring it up, but she does ask for help over the next few days on words she doesn’t know. Michael doesn’t know most of them either, but he tries, and Meg finds herself wondering how she ever thought he was heartless when they first met.

“You and Michael seem to be getting along,” offers Gavin one evening, in that quietly pleased way he has. His hair is getting long again, falling ungelled into his eyes. He looks content, like some of the constant humming under his skin has settled.

She smiles, shrugging a shoulder. “He’s not so bad.”

It’s dangerous, how gentle she feels. This temporary thing is feeling better and better with every passing day, and it’ll only be harder to let it go the sweeter things get. For now, though, she’ll take what she can get, settling in until she can prod Gavin into considering what it might look like if they stopped constant barrelling headfirst into the next thing.

If she and Gavin aren’t needed, then maybe they can find what they need here. It’s nice to think about, at least.

//

They get the call a day and a half later. It’s Gavin’s watch that lights up a bright, lurid green, making awful beeping sounds at him that it is most definitely not supposed to be making. He disabled everything except the odometer on it, mostly just forgetting it’s there since it’s such a familiar weight on his wrist, and he’s having a hard time figuring out where the sound is even coming from.

And then, as quickly as it began, it all quiets to a low whir. 

“What in bollocking- _Burnie?_ ”

Burnie laughs. Or, well, the mini hologram version of Burnie laughs where it’s projecting from the watch. “You’re a hard man to get ahold of, Gavin Free.”

“Flipping hell,” says Gavin, blinking the sun out of his eyes. It’s hard to really see the entire hologram out here in the fields at midday, but it’s impossible to mistake Burnie’s square head for anything else. “How’d you even hack this? How did you know I still had it?”

“Trial and error,” answers Burnie. “This wasn’t our first attempt. We’ve been trying to find you and Meg for weeks now. Where the hell are you guys?”

Gavin blinks. “You can’t just trace this call?”

“You’ve got GPS disabled,” says Burnie. “And we’re low on resources out here. We can’t trace anything.”

“Oh,” says Gavin. “So you’re in Austin still?”

Burnie nods. “Yes, dumbass, we haven’t suddenly changed plans without telling anyone. Unlike you.”

“Sorry,” says Gavin. His head’s spinning. Nothing had been set in stone when they left, or so he and Meg thought. “We didn’t know how to reach you, or if you were even still- we had no idea you were waiting on us.”

Burnie’s expression softens. “So Meg’s still with you?” He waits for Gavin’s nod before continuing. “Good. Listen, this connection’s fuckin’ shaky at best, so just get here as soon as you can, alright? We’ve got shit for you guys to do.”

“Revolution shit?” asks Gavin. “Did it- is it good? Are things better now?” 

Burnie’s laugh is dry, tired. “The Revolution in San Antonio is over. We’re not affiliated with them, not anymore. I’ll fill you in when you get here, kid. When you get in, ask around for the documentary crew. You’ll find us. Barb’s here, too, helping out. We’ve been waiting for you and Meg to get started with everything.”

“And you’re safe there?” asks Gavin.

“Safe enough,” answers Burnie, even, like he’s making sure Gavin knows he’s not bullshitting him. “When can we expect you? You’re not in, like, LA or something are you?”

Gavin shakes his head. “No, we’re, uh. Still in Texas. Not far from Austin. Is there a way I can contact you after this? Like, before we come?”

At the other end of the field, Michael and Meg have both noticed that Gavin’s stopped working. 

“Just be here before the end of next week,” says Burnie. “Ten days to get your shit in order and get here. Sound reasonable? It’s not safe to keep this line open, but I’ll-” the line crackles, connection going wavy as Burnie’s hologram blinks in and out of vision- “okay? Only if things change.”

Meg starts to walk over, but Gavin waves her off, heart beating too fast as he tries to process what’s going on. “Yeah,” he says, “um, yes. It’s not- you need us, yeah?

“You know anyone else who can operate a Phantom around here? Or someone who can anchor a report next to a battlefield without flinching?” asks Burnie.

Gavin looks down, nods. Point taken, he guesses. It sounds like it’s film work, which isn’t what Gavin was expecting, but his brain is already firing off a hundred thoughts a second about being needed, how what they have here was never meant to last and he was stupid for thinking otherwise. He got lulled into thinking they could stay and that he and Michael could even properly fix things. “We’ll leave soon,” he says, and his voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere else. Certainly he doesn’t sound that cold and distant, that shell-shocked.

“Take care,” says Burnie, and Gavin wants to ask so many more questions, wants to poke at the plan to see if they can get more time or do it remotely or-

The connection drops, but Gavin keeps staring at his watch.

Meg walks up before he manages to tear his gaze away. “Hey,” she says gently, “what was that about?”

Michael is still on the other side of the field, having gotten back to work. Gavin feels an unforgiving twinge of guilt through the blankness of surprise. “Can I speak to you out front?” he asks. He’s careful to keep his voice level. No use freaking Meg out before they’ve even had a chance to talk this through.

“Okay,” says Meg.

As they walk around the side of the house, Meg fiddles with the ring on her finger. It’s the engagement ring Gavin gave her at the party, provided by their Revolution superiors. She doesn’t wear it every day, but in the time they’ve been here she’s had it on more often that not. The diamond glints in the afternoon sun.

“So,” says Meg, when they end up sitting on the porch. It’s still hot under the awning, but it’s better than nothing. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” says Gavin.

Meg raises an eyebrow like she doesn’t believe him, so Gavin doubles down. “It’s not something bad,” he says, “just unexpected. That’s all.”

“Okay,” says Meg slowly. “Someone contacted you?”

Gavin waves his watch around a bit. “Yeah. Uh, Burnie.”

This time, both of Meg’s eyebrows lift almost to her hairline. “Really? So he’s-”

“Alive,” finishes Gavin. “And safe, yeah. Or ‘safe enough,’ he said. Barbara, too, and Gus, I think. They’re in Austin.”

“Wow,” says Meg, eyes wide. She smiles. “I’m so glad to hear that.”

There’s a creaking sound from inside, probably Lindsay opening the door to the bathroom. Michael has been talking about oiling the hinges but he hasn’t bothered to yet, something about wanting to trade for it instead of spending money. Gavin and Meg have been learning a lot about the economy and politics of the settlements, which, without an actual government, are unlike anything they’ve seen or studied. Another creak: the bathroom door closing. Signs of life, the result of four people in one small house.

Gavin’s gut churns. “He said they’ve been expecting us, that they need us there. He wants us to leave in the next couple of days.”

Her expression shutters. “Couple of days,” repeats Meg quietly, mindlessly, like she’s still processing. “That’s- soon. I don’t-” She huffs a sigh- “What do they need us for?”

“Documentary work, sounds like. Or news work. Not Revolution but maybe something close to it. It was hard to tell, Burnie kept jumping all over the place. But he said they need us specifically, and we need to leave within the week.”

Meg nods. If Gavin looks closely (and he does), he can see her hands trembling. “It was our choice before. It wasn’t an order.”

“Do you want to stay?” asks Gavin. His heart is slamming in his chest like even it knows that this moment changes everything. He doesn’t even know what he wants her to say, if a yes would be better or worse than a no.

Meg just bites her lip, looks away. “I don’t know.”

“To get there in time,” he says, “we’d have to leave in seven days. Eight if we hurry.”

Meg nods. “Let’s decide after dinner. I think I want some time to figure out how I’m feeling.”

It’s code for _let’s end this conversation so I can have some space to freak out_ , but Gavin knows her well enough to know that it’s the right thing for them. “Want some company while you figure it out?” he asks.

She always says no, and this time is no different. It makes him feel better to offer, though, just in case. The two of them are bad at asking for help, and it makes them quite the pair. They’ve gotten better at verbalizing it, but they’ve also gotten better at making it easy for each other, at offering in case it’s too hard to ask.

Michael rounds the corner while they’re quiet, just watching each other. “Uh,” he says, clearing his throat. “I finished the rest of the herbs, so we’re done for the day.”

“Okay,” says Meg, turning to him. Gavin watches her watch Michael. “Thanks for letting us know.”

Michael nods stiffly and goes around back again.

“Should we go in?” asks Gavin. Being in close proximity to the Joneses while keeping a secret like this will not be easy, but Meg sunburns at the drop of the hat, and the shade isn’t protecting them enough after a long morning of work.

“Yeah,” says Meg. “Yeah, I- yeah.”

Gavin kisses her forehead before they walk back inside the house.

//

They reconvene on the porch again after dinner, sitting side by side in the sticky air. Meg’s shoulder keeps brushing Gavin’s.

“We should go,” she says without looking at him. “I hate it, but if they really need us, then they need us. And it doesn’t have to be forever.”

The stars are slowly starting to wink back into visibility against the darkening sky. Gavin doesn’t know all of what made Meg come to that conclusion, but maybe it’s something about this place. It has a way of connecting you back to the Earth in a manner San Antonio never could achieve, but it’s twofold. Makes you feel small. Gavin is shocked most days that he’s ever been able to affect any kind of change in a world like this, but maybe that’s why he clings so tightly to the ways he’s done so. To the ways he can and will.

Leaving Michael and Lindsay will be hard, but Gavin has done lots of hard things in his life. He’s left and he’s been left. If this, somehow, feels different, then he can chalk it up to a misplaced sense of nostalgia that should’ve burned off when Gavin hung up his camera five years ago and learned to shoot a man point blank in the chest without even having a nightmare about it. 

No matter that this feels like home. Gavin gave up on putting down roots a long, long time ago. Flight risk, Meg calls him. Too much nervous energy under his skin to ever properly settle. She’s the closest thing to home he’s got, and they were made to be in motion. There’s no room for anything else.

Meg rests her head on his shoulder, and he keeps looking up at the stars. “You’re right,” he says, and that’s that.

//

They don’t tell the Joneses at breakfast, and they don’t tell them at lunch, and dinner comes and goes without a word about the impending journey. Gavin and Meg don’t talk about why they’re keeping it to themselves for now, but they both must know it’s out of selfishness.

Gavin watches Lindsay record in the booth and he can’t help but smile seeing her so enthusiastic. She usually carries a quieter energy about her, especially near Michael’s all-encompassing presence, but this is different, uninhibited.

“That was insane,” says Gavin when she comes out. He’s smiling.

“Thanks,” says Lindsay, taking it as the compliment it was. “It’s nice to let loose in there. Michael and I goof off at home but this is different, you know?”

Gavin doesn’t know, but he nods anyway. Lindsay’s energy is infectious and for now he’s just happy to be part of it. They walk to the car together, waving to Jon as they leave — Gavin has gotten quite familiar with this place since he started accompanying Lindsay to work five times week — and outside it’s bright and sunny, late Texan summer showing off its sweet side today.

The radio is on and there’s even some music playing through the static, some oldie that Gavin only vaguely recognizes. Lindsay sings along, tugging her hair out of its ponytail with one hand and steering with the other as they leave the parking lot.

“You ever think about how much we’ve regressed?” asks Gavin after a bit.

“Emotionally?”

Gavin blinks at her, then shakes his head. “No, no, I meant technologically. We’ve got these fancy watches that can project, like, holograms, but outside of the City we’re barely getting a radio signal. You and Michael are practically part farmer at this point. It’s just a bit weird to notice.”

“Oh,” answers Lindsay. “Yeah, it’s a little weird. It’s kind of nice, too, though. Tech is great for connecting to people but I guess I just appreciate the people close to me more without it, if that makes sense. This is the world I live in, so I might as well _live_ in it.”

Gavin nods. He’s had many of the same thoughts himself, especially since leaving the City. He and Meg have always been good together with or without technology, but he doesn’t know that he would’ve been able to really get to know Lindsay if he could spend their car rides after work checking the news or trying to beat his high score in Snake. And he and Michael are long overdue for a conversation that might never happen without the inescapability of their close quarters. 

After a pause, Gavin speaks again. “There are less distractions out here. I didn’t think I would like that, but I think I do. I think I like it quite a lot.” It stings in a more pointed way now that they’re going to leave this behind. He can’t daydream, though, about what it would be like to stay like this forever. Gavin tries not to be in the habit of wanting things he can’t have.

“It’s nice,” Lindsay says, oblivious to his turmoil. “Feels real, grounded.”

 _I couldn’t watch you leave me first,_ thinks Gavin in Michael’s voice, the memory stinging like barbs in his skin. _If you wouldn’t make a real home with me, then I was gonna make my own. It wasn’t fair to ask me to follow you anywhere_.

Gavin hadn’t understood the argument at the time, but maybe he does now. “Yeah,” he says belatedly, and the rest of the car ride is spent giggling and discussing their opinions on old viral cat videos, long since scrubbed with the deletion of YouTube, that neither of them can remember the exact details of.

//

Gavin walks into their bedroom to find Meg staring morosely into the spotty mirror over the dresser. She’s fiddling with her hair, which isn’t quite the rich purple it was when she first dyed it. The roots appear to be coming in now, and the color overall has faded.

She’s still pretty as a picture — and Gavin knows pictures better than anyone around here — but he knows she’s unhappy with the way it looks.

He comes up behind her and puts his hands on her waist. “Hiya.”

Meg sighs. “Hey.” She tilts her head back until it’s resting on his shoulder. “You won’t break up with me because my hair is awful, right?”

“Probably not,” answers Gavin, smiling into her warm skin.

Meg rolls her eyes, but it coaxes a chuckle from her before her shoulders sag again. “None of the markets around here stock dye. I tried to look when I went with Lindsay the other day, but the guy I talked to said you have to be closer to Austin for that. I don’t want to leave it like this, though, especially for when we get there and see everyone. It’s just going to get worse.”

“Maybe Lindsay has some tips or something?” tries Gavin.

Meg shrugs, looking disheartened. “Maybe. I know this is shallow, I just-” she huffs, cutting herself off with frustration, and spins on her heel until she’s facing the opposite direction of the mirror. 

Gavin starts to get the idea that this isn’t just about her hair. He doesn’t have the right words, though, to even try to help more. He kisses her temple and tangles their hands together, hoping that’s better than nothing.

“Wanna go see what the others are doing?” asks Meg.

They all usually hang out together for a bit after dinner. It’s become something of a tradition, and with so little time left he and Meg have been hesitant to break routine too much. “Yeah,” he says, still holding her hand, and lets her lead him out to the living room.

//

Meg is leaving the bathroom when Lindsay stops her, evidently just home from work. Gavin must be around, too, maybe messing around with Michael and doing whatever it is they do when the two of them are alone. Fighting, maybe. There's still some tension between them, and not all of it is sexual despite the waves that have been radiating from both of them lately. Neither of them seem to have fully picked up on it.

"Hey, lady," says Meg, startled by Lindsay's sudden appearance. "How was your day?"

"Good," answers Lindsay flippantly. She has one arm awkwardly behind her back like she's hiding something. "Recorded another few episodes. We're almost done with this volume, which means I'll have to go in less. That'll be nice until I get bored again."

Meg feels her face go soft with fond surprise. "Oh, that's great!" She doesn't think about Lindsay taking her place helping Michael with food preparation, or how maybe it's better that she and Gavin get out of the married couple's hair. She's still so torn on whether leaving is the right choice, but things like this make it easier to stay steadfast.

She knows that Gavin wants to leave because he can’t bear to stay. Her own reasons are different — more related to the feelings that have been growing for both Michael and Lindsay, and anxiety about how badly she wants to plant her feet and refuse to be moved. Meg has never been frightened of the future, but then again she’s never had much to lose, and she and Gavin moved on together. Here and now, it’s different, and neither of them are accustomed to loving what they can’t keep, or keeping what they love beyond each other.

Lindsay nods, oblivious to Meg's turmoil. "Speaking of great, I have a surprise for you." She whips out her hand from behind her back, and reveals a box of bright red hair dye with a bleaching kit stacked on top. "It won't be perfect, but I think it would look nice on you, and Gavin was saying you weren't happy with how yours looks now."

"It's perfect," says Meg, awed, one hand trailing up to cover her mouth in surprise. She looks down at it, then snaps her gaze back up to Lindsay. "Where did you even find this?"

"I know people," answers Lindsay, so at home with the enigmatic curve of her smile. Again, Meg thinks she’d be a great spy. She reminds herself to teach Lindsay all sorts of nefarious tricks later, if only to send Michael into a tizzy over it. "We doing this?"

Meg snatches the boxes from Lindsay and marches right back into the bathroom. "You fucking bet we are. You gonna help me? Because I can try to do it alone, but the back is going to be a mess, and you guys are the ones that have to look at that, not me."

"Of course I'll help. I do know a little about hair dyeing." She flips her hair as an example. The dark roots are starting to show under the blonde, but the effect is impressive, even arresting. Meg is a little jealous of how well Lindsay wears the fade of the dye.

They start slow, reading over the instructions carefully and gathering some old towels that Lindsay uses when she does this for herself. "I usually make Michael help me," offers Lindsay, "but something tells me this is gonna be more fun."

"He's not fun?" asks Meg, mostly joking.

Lindsay cottons on and smiles. "He's a lot of things, but patient about stuff he finds boring is definitely not one of them. He's all 'babe you look gorgeous just as you are!' as if I don't know that. Like okay, thanks, but I'm going to bleach the shit out of my hair anyway."

Meg raises a fist from her position on the chair they pulled from the kitchen. "Amen, sister."

The process takes a long time, chemical smells permeating every surface of the bathroom and making Meg cough a few times. Lindsay cracks a window, which helps, but there’s nothing to do about the noxious pile of toxins atop Meg’s head.

She laments the situation, just briefly. She used to get this done professionally, flashing stolen credit cards at some of the best places in the City with hairdressers who would be kind or greedy enough to look the other way as long as _someone_ was paying them, willing or not. Still, it gets done, and by the time Meg has finished showering, her wet hair is looking distinctively brighter and less muddy than before. 

Lindsay wolf-whistles when Meg steps out into the living room to meet the rest of them.

“Oi,” protests Gavin, “none of that, now.”

Meg laughs, blowing a kiss to Lindsay. Gavin makes another indignant noise at Meg’s wink, but the mood is loose, easy. “Does it look good?” she asks the others, only preening a little.

“It looks bangin’,” says Michael.

Gavin turns to him, too, mock betrayal dripping from his features. Michael flips him off, and it turns into an all-out wrestling match on the ground, Meg and Lindsay egging them on. Lindsay assists a little, pushing one or both of them when they roll close enough to her feet.

It ends with Gavin flat on his back, arms pinned over his head, trying to blow the hair from out of his eyes. Michael, above him, is grinning fiercely.

“Alright,” says Gavin, “that’s enough of that, then.”

There’s a moment of silence between them, Michael’s hand still pinning down both of Gavin’s, his thighs resting over Gavin’s, his eyes dark and playful. Meg holds her breath.

Michael lets go slowly, then goes to sit back on the couch.

Lindsay helps Gavin up, the two of them almost as clumsy as each other, and the moment breaks, attention diverting back to Meg’s hair and how well the red suits her.

//

The alarm sounds in the house while Michael and Gavin are at Jack’s, grabbing some supplies the other man had picked up on his last trip to the outskirts of Austin. The settlement Jack and his wife Caiti are currently staying on feels like it’s ages away. It’s not so far geographically, but with the way the roads are in that direction there’s a lot of swerving and cursing as Michael drives.

“Not sure why we got saddled with this,” complains Michael as they’re leaving to head back to the house. “I’m a terrible driver, and you’re even worse than me.”

Gavin doesn’t even protest, license-less as he is. “At least we got what we needed.” There’s some wood in the back for fires, along with packs of matches and a few pots and pans to replace the old ones. The thing Michael was most excited about, though, is the toolkit that has approximately fifteen different screwdrivers in it and a whole host of other things. It’ll kick-start some of the home improvement projects he and Meg have been giggling about over lunch the past few days.

Michael’s phone starts ringing about twenty minutes into the journey, and he picks it up impatiently. Gavin would make a quip about distractions and vehicle safety, but Michael’s expression darkens so fast it makes the whole car feel a few degrees cooler.

“Did you see what happened?” he asks tersely, not even bothering with a greeting. “Check the windows upstairs, see if anyone’s out there.”

A pause. Michael chews on his lower lip, waiting.

“We’ll be back in-” he checks the time in the car and grimaces- “like half an hour, maybe forty minutes. I can punch it if you need.” With the scarcity of gas in this region, they try to coast as much as possible, keeping it in neutral when there’s even the slightest decline. They _can_ go faster, they just shouldn’t. “You sure?” Michael asks, phone still up to his ear. “Okay. Yeah, I got it. Lindsay- wait for a second, Lindsay, take the shotgun.”

Gavin breaks his silence, startled. “The shotgun? What the Christ is going on over there?” he asks Michael.

Michael waves him off impatiently, still focused on Lindsay. “Be careful, alright? Take Meg, have her watch your back. Watch hers, too. Okay. We’ll be back soon. Call if anything.” Another pause, this one shorter. “Love you. Yeah, bye.”

“Explain,” demands Gavin. His heart is beating fast.

Michael takes a deep breath before answering, evidently trying to calm himself down. “Something set off one of the alarms on the perimeter, and two others went totally dark. Lindsay isn’t sure what happened, so she and Meg are going to check it out.”

Meg is competent and capable. Lindsay must have had Revolution training, too, if she was a runner. They’ll be fine. “I’m worried,” says Gavin anyway, because he is. 

“They’ll meet us back at the house once they figure out what happened. Lindsay said she’d call me if anything happens. It’ll be fine.” Michael’s words are undermined by the way his hands grip the steering wheel, knuckles whitening.

“Right,” says Gavin, mostly to himself.

The rest of the drive is somber. Michael makes some noises about driving around the perimeter, but it’ll trash the crops they’ve been working on, which would do more harm than good. They pull into the driveway and go inside.

“Lindsay texted,” says Michael suddenly as they walk through the doorway.

Gavin perks up. “Yeah?”

“They’re on their way back. Didn’t see anyone.”

“Good,” says Gavin. “That’s good. Do you reckon they-”

He’s interrupted by Meg and Lindsay walking into the house, their expressions are grim, and his voice dies in his throat. They don’t look hurt at all, thankfully, but they don’t look happy either. “The fence is down,” says Meg. “A whole stretch of it on the west side. It looks like it was taken out by a grenade, or something. Maybe a mine.”

“What?” asks Michael. “Like it was targeted?”

“No idea,” answers Lindsay. “Maybe? It’s a messy explosion, though. There was some shrapnel.”

Meg nods. “Looked like something remote to me. Like it was set up and then someone left before detonating, or some kind of roving device that had a set path. Then they wouldn’t have been able to account for wind, and it would account for the plastic and metal shrapnel. Still, though, the radius was super wide, so it must have been pretty big to get in range without someone right there guiding it.”

“Turney specialized in analytics,” provides Gavin. “Did you get a sample or anything?”

“Yeah,” says Meg, “but I don’t have any equipment. I’m just gonna take a little and see how it reacts with water and a couple other solvents, but aside from that there’s not much I can do.”

“Analytics?” asks Lindsay. “That’s pretty sweet.”

“Focus, Lindsay,” Michael cuts in. 

She nods, unbothered by his interruption, and gestures for Meg to go on. “Right,” continues Meg. “All I can tell you is that there’s nothing in the environment out here that would combust naturally and leave a hole like that. It’s gotta be an explosive.” She pauses, thinking. “Did they leave mines in the ground at any point during the bombings?” she asks. “Or, like, when you guys were building the settlements?”

“Build is a generous term,” says Lindsay. “It was mostly done by the time we got here.”

“Yeah,” says Michael. “But I don’t think mines were in any of the plans. People out here were just looking for- for peace, or whatever. Maybe you can ask Geoff, though. He was out here before us. Jack, too, but he won’t be back around these parts for a couple months.”

Gavin doesn’t know that they’ll have enough time to go see Geoff and figure all of this out before they need to go to Austin and see Burnie and them, but Michael and Lindsay don’t know that, and Gavin feels the guilt pooling heavy in his gut, threatening to drag him through the floor. He’s good with secrets, but that doesn’t mean he usually enjoys keeping them. The main thing keeping his mouth shut at this point is knowing that no matter what happens, the Joneses’ reactions to the new plan are going to be ugly, angry, maybe even hurt.

He runs a hand over his hair. “What if we went and checked it out ourselves properly tonight?” he asks. “You and me, boi.” 

Michael looks at him, something uncertain in his expression. “We could,” he says. “Why, though? We already know it’s blown.”

“They blew it last night, yeah? Maybe they’ll come back after dark, and we can see who did it.”

“Yeah,” says Meg, “or maybe the entire place is covered in landmines and you’ll get your heads blown off.”

Gavin rolls his eyes, because it seems like Meg is mostly arguing just to be contrary. “I’m not an amateur,” he says. “I’ve done this before, yeah? No one’s gonna get blown.”

“Up,” says Michael. “Blown up.”

“Right,” says Gavin.

Michael’s shaking his head, but he’s smiling. “You can’t say it like that, Gav.”

“Semantics,” replies Gavin, waving a hand dismissively. “Seriously, though. If someone’s snooping at the perimeter, we should check it out just in case.”

“I’m going to sleep,” says Lindsay. “If you two idiots want to go now, fine, but you better not die. Otherwise we can all check it out in the morning when it’s light and safe.”

“Just really quick,” says Gavin. He turns to Michael with big eyes. Michael sighs and appears resigned to agree, which is as good as an agreement to Gavin. Michael then turns to Meg, gesturing a question with the tilt of his eyebrows.

Meg shakes her head. “I’m with Lindsay. I’m tired.” She drags the word out, punctuating it with a yawn. “Be safe, alright?”

“Always,” says Gavin, call and response.

Meg laughs quietly and goes to bed. Michael and Gavin walk back out into the night.

//

There’s nothing of note that the girls didn’t already mention when they get there, so of course Gavin panics in the silence and blurts out him and Meg’s plans for the end of the week after just a few minutes had passed. 

He’s usually fine under pressure — being a spy will do that — but this feels different. Michael strips him of his defenses, just like Lindsay seemed to during their first few car rides together. Gavin wouldn’t last five minutes being interrogated by them, he’s pretty sure, even though he passed that training in the City with flying colors.

As it is, Michael looks at him with his dark eyes and Gavin says, “We’re leaving, for real this time,” simple as that, like it was always going to spill right out of him. 

“What?”

Gavin steels himself. “We’re leaving,” he repeats.

“You’re serious,” says Michael, completely flat. Gavin’s heart starts beating a little quicker, anxiety prickling at him. Michael gets angry when he’s upset, not quiet. Not disbelieving, stone-faced, unimpressed.

Gavin shakes his head. “Talked to Burnie about it,” he says. “They’re expecting us by week’s end. They’ve been expecting us, apparently, but it shouldn’t be surprising that we always were planning to see this through.”

“See what through?” asks Michael. “A death sentence?”

Gavin sighs, rubbing at his temple. It’s dangerous out here, sure, but it’s not what Michael and Lindsay and even Geoff had made it out to be. There aren’t bombings every other night, no trigger-happy gunners marching through the middle of the plains. There’s risk, but Gavin and Meg are capable. That’s not what this is about. “Did you really think we’d stay here forever?” he asks, finally.

That shuts Michael up, if only for a few seconds. When he finds his voice again, it’s louder. “I thought you were dead,” he says. “And then you showed up here like some kind of fucking ghost, and I was pissed but I was _happy_. Okay? Is that what you wanna hear? That my stupid fucking brain lit the fuck up when I realized it was you? And that maybe you leaving before we’ve even- before we-” He trails off, distressed, eyes wide and upset.

“You were the one that left,” says Gavin, voice low, because he doesn’t think he could stand to hear Michael finish that sentence. It’s a stark contrast to Michael’s crescendo.

“What else was I supposed to do?” asks Michael, practically shouting. “They wanted to hire me as cannon fodder. It was a redshirt offer — I knew that, you knew that, the whole world fucking knew it.”

“Well you could’ve at least said goodbye!” Gavin yells. He pauses, breathes, tries to center himself again. No one’s ever been able to get under his skin like Michael. Gavin hates the person he is when he’s this upset, so he tones it down as best he can. “Listen,” he starts again, and it’s quieter but he feels himself shaking, “I sat outside your house for two hours, just _hoping_ you weren’t gone. Because you would never do that. You would never just disappear without a word, right? I was so bloody _stupid_ , thinking it was all some- some joke. Like you were pranking me. I was waiting for you to jump out with a camera or something.”

Michael’s looking just to the left of Gavin’s shoulder, jaw tight. “I’m sorry,” he says through his teeth. It sounds angry but no less sincere for it.

Gavin wants to cry. His throat is hot, eyes gritty, and it’s that more than anything that startles him out of his anger. He blinks back the tears easily enough, and all that’s left is a hollow kind of sadness, dulled at the edges.

“Okay,” he says. “I’m sorry, too.”

“Okay?” asks Michael, blinking owlishly at him in the dark. He looks like he doesn’t know what to do with himself without a fight.

“Yeah,” says Gavin, because he’s tired, because this matters, because he spent so long missing Michael and wishing to start again and he’ll be damned if they waste this chance, too. “Don’t think we’ll see anything out here tonight.”

Michael still looks lost. “Guess not,” he answers. “You brought me out here just to tell me you’re leaving? Is Meg doing the same with Lindsay right now?”

“Maybe. Turney’s probably asleep by now, though,” says Gavin. “And I didn’t plan for us to have this conversation tonight. But I’m glad it’s out in the open, at least.” He didn’t think he would be glad, but it feels like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. Everything is still faintly miserable, but the thing he was scared of has happened and they’re not worse off for it.

They walk home in silence, surrounded by the swirling intensity of everything they’ve said.

//

There’s nothing there in the morning, when the four of them go together like they’d planned. Just a ruined fence and the dirt kicked up, all the more unsettling in the bright light. 

They stay there for two hours, but no dice.

“One more time,” says Michael. “Later. We can go, Gav. I don’t want to leave this without any answers.”

“Yeah,” answers Gavin. “We’ll go.”

//

He and Michael head out again that evening. It’s a stake out of sorts, everything gentled in the dying light. The sun sets slowly at the perimeter, everything going gold before seeping into a deep orange, and when Gavin glances back at the house it looks small, far away. 

“Do you remember when we were at that pizza shop and-”

“-your mugshot was all over the news,” finishes Gavin, laughing. “God, that was ages ago.”

Michael laughs, too. “Fucking bullshit charge,” he mutters, shaking his head ruefully. “Should’ve checked my six a little sooner.”

“I tried to warn you,” says Gavin. Michael was right pissed at the time, but it’s easy, in hindsight, to let it all blur into humor and softness, like it was a hilarious mishap rather than an unjust arrest that put Michael behind bars for over a month.

“Yeah,” says Michael. “God, we were so _reckless_ back then.” He says it disdainfully, just another way he’s different from the Michael that was Gavin’s all that time ago. 

_I miss that_ , Gavin doesn’t say _,_ because it’s awful to be reminded of the things they no longer know about each other. 

“Remember the lake?” he asks instead.

“What about it?” 

Gavin pauses, thinks. Most of what he can recall is the light. It was the second-to-last night they spent together, and the moon was nearly full, casting thin light across everything. It was December and they were sitting on a bench in the park at the edge of the water, shoulders touching. Michael had been distant for a few days, so Gavin had hoped, selfishly, that some time alone would get him to open up.

“What do you think will happen?” he’d asked, hands twisting in his lap. 

“To what?” Michael answered, voice low.

Gavin took a deep breath. “To anything,” he said, which he knew wasn’t helpful at all. He’d been so hopeful, though. He’d wanted Michael to have the answers.

“I don’t know,” Michael had said, without even looking at him, and Gavin had been so desperate that he read it all wrong, wanting so badly for it to be finished by _we’ll find out together, though,_ or _it doesn’t matter because we’ll be okay._ He hadn’t thought that that was the start of Michael telling him goodbye. He’d been blinded by his own wanting.

The night had ended gently, like stars winking out in the sky, and the weight in Gavin’s chest felt a little bit lighter even though it shouldn’t have.

Here, now, they’re still under the stars. It’s still quiet. It still feels a little like a goodbye.

“It’s like,” says Gavin, finally, “it’s sacred, or something. No attacks hit it. No bombs, or firefights. The park looks exactly the same.”

“Weird,” says Michael. “I didn’t know that.”

Gavin shrugs one shoulder. “Dunno why I mentioned it. Just thought it was nice.”

“Yeah,” says Michael, voice still low. 

The landscape is perfectly still for just one more moment. After that, the red glow of an LED light washes over the ground about six feet from Gavin’s shoes, and they both startle.

“We can’t be out in the open like this,” says Michael, sounding reluctant even as he starts rushing. “Come on.” He jogs away from what looks to be an unmanned rover upon closer examination, toward an abandoned settlement a little ways away. Gavin follows. 

At the property’s edge, there’s a wooden fence. Up close, Gavin can see that the edges of it are rotting, and it’s riddled with small holes. It doesn’t look like it’ll protect them if anything goes down, but it’ll keep them hidden well enough in the dark.

They duck down behind the fence. A sliver of moonlight pierces the gap between the planks of wood, illuminating a third of Michael’s face, lines sharp against the shadow. Gavin’s heart is beating very fast, and it isn’t just the adrenaline.

“It should roll through eventually,” says Michael, quiet. “They come by sometimes. We think it’s surveillance, but if they’ve been exploding...”

Gavin peers back out. The rover has something attached to its back, heavy and blinking and held together with twine. “Quite a load it’s got just for surveilling.”

Michael makes a frustrated sound. “I don’t know, I’m just guessing. We don’t exactly get to take a close look at them. I only know they’re usually surveillance because of Jack, and I don’t even know how he knows. He just said someone’s trying to keep an eye on us in case they need to intervene or- or seize the land.”

“You think it’s some kind of turf war?” wagers Gavin.

“Maybe. But this isn’t our _turf_. We don’t get involved in that kind of shit.”

Gavin hums, considering. “D’you reckon they’re trying to add people to their ranks, whoever they are? Or that they recognized me or Meg in the tapes and are mad about us being out here?” It sends a pang of fear through him, even as he knows Meg is more than capable of defending herself; Lindsay, too, if her apparent history with the Revolution is anything to go by. Still, though. It’s not good for them to all be split up like this, and if it’s him and Meg’s fault that the settlement is being targeted, then maybe it’s good that they leave.

“I don’t know,” says Michael, and this time… he sounds small. Tired. So far from the bright loudmouth he usually is, though not an unfamiliar sound.

They’ve always been weirdly good at quiet for two self-identified chatterboxes; maybe it’s something about the way they spent those formative years together, or the awful neighbor they had that last year who demanded silence after ten in the evening. Gavin remembers shoving his face in a pillow beneath him while he was getting fucked, Michael panting into his shoulder, the two of them so careful to keep the air clear of noise. It’s the quiet that pushes Gavin to remember, the quiet that makes his heart rip, just a little, like he’s reliving the night Michael left all over again.

He doesn’t mean to say, “I’ve missed you,” but that’s what comes out, helpless and raw.

The breeze shudders across them. Gavin can hear the rover whirring as its mechanical wheels kick up dust, but it’s faint under the rushing in his ears.

Michael deflates, finally, shoulders dropping. “Yeah,” he says, “you too.”

“I’m glad you’re happy out here,” continues Gavin. “You’ve got a nice setup.”

“I know,” says Michael.

More quiet.

Gavin’s legs are starting to cramp. “We can’t stay,” he offers, trying to break it gently, but it’s hard to manage around the lump in his throat.

Michael looks over at him, eyes bright in the low light. His mouth is turned down, expression serious, heavy. “You’re making a choice. Don’t pretend that’s not what this is.”

Gavin doesn’t have anything to say in response. His legs have started to cramp where he’s crouching, but the silence keeps him still. The emotion keeps him paralyzed. He knows, as soon as they get a chance, he’ll make a break for the house, but for now the night has gone statuesque.

//

Once the rover finally clears out, Michael and Gavin do indeed tuck tail and run. They make it back to the house three hours after they’d originally been planning to, and Meg lays into the both of them almost immediately.

“What, we don’t get the courtesy of knowing if you two fuckers are alive? Not even a text? Gavin, whatever, we don’t have our phones or comm lines open or anything, but _you_ -” she spins toward Michael, eyes burning, “should fucking know better. We were about to come out and find you ourselves.”

“What?” demands Michael, so fierce it’s barely a question and more a demand. “You don’t know what’s out there, you can’t just-”

“Can’t just put ourselves in danger?” retorts Lindsay. “Can’t just leave without warning? You got _shot_ six months ago, Michael. Forgive me for worrying.” Her voice is lower than Meg’s and Michael’s both, but it leaves the room dead silent. Now that he’s actually looking at her, Gavin notices that her eyes are slightly puffy, and it’s disconcerting. He hasn’t seen her genuinely emotional like this at all in the time he’s known her.

Michael looks a little lost. “It wasn’t like that- Lindsay-” he tries.

She cuts him off again. “Don’t wanna hear it.” 

Lindsay walks out of the room, and Michael stays rooted to the spot.

“I’m sorry,” says Gavin into the tense quiet. When Meg surges forward and hugs him, she buries her face in his chest. She’s still trembling a little.

She pulls back and turns straight to Michael, hugging him too. At first, he looks completely bewildered, stiff and awkward in her arms. She persists, though, and he relaxes a little. “I’m glad you’re okay, too,” she says.

He glances at Gavin, eyes wide like he’s looking for help. Gavin just smiles at him, and Michael rolls his eyes, and everything feels almost normal for a second. Or, well. Almost normal except for the part where Gavin’s now married ex-boyfriend is hugging his current girlfriend in the middle of the living room in this house in no-man’s-land.

“Sorry,” mutters Michael. It’s disconcertingly muted. “We weren’t expecting trouble. We saw a rover, but nothing happened, and it rolled off after a few laps. I don’t think it saw us.” He looks toward the door, where Lindsay left, and seems to deflate even further.

Gavin looks, too. “I’ll talk to her,” he says, before he’s even made the conscious decision to do so. Meg steps back. She and Michael are both looking at him with twin expressions of mixed emotion, more or less inscrutable.

“She likes having time to cool off,” says Michael, almost rueful except for the tense twist of his mouth.

Gavin shrugs. “I’m a light touch.”

Michael shakes his head, but it seems like acquiescence. “Suit yourself,” he says, so Gavin does.

He finds Lindsay in the bedroom she shares with Michael, back against the headboard, staring at her hands. She’s twisting her wedding ring around her finger, hair falling over her face. When Gavin goes to sit next to her, one foot still planted on the floor so he’s only half on the bed, she doesn’t protest, so he takes it as a tentative invitation.

“We didn’t mean to worry you,” he says. “Don’t know how much it’s worth coming from me, but we’d no idea we’d get stuck out there for so long. If it helps, no one got hurt, or even close to it.” Quiet, no response. Gavin nods to himself, thinking. “You still pissed?”

“Yup,” says Lindsay, sharp.

Gavin nods again. “Fair play. You going to keep being mingey about it?”

Lindsay’s face does a few things, some quite intimidating, before finally settling on a thoughtful expression. “I can’t tell if you’re more or less insufferable than Michael.”

A weird observation, but Gavin’s heard weirder. “Well, you did let me in here.”

“You didn’t knock.”

“You didn’t kick me out,” counters Gavin, and Lindsay shrugs. 

She looks very, very tired. “Did you want something? I’m not gonna be mad forever, I just want to sleep it off. Michael knows that. You don’t have to convince me to stay with him, or whatever.” 

_Did_ he want something? Gavin knows he came in here for a reason, but it seemed much grander in his head, like he’d be able to waltz in and cheer her right up and parade her back out and they could all be a happy family again. Except this isn’t a family, and Gavin has no place in this bedroom, and Lindsay looks more defeated than she does pissed off. 

“I’m sorry we ran off like that,” says Gavin after a long, loaded pause. “And I don’t mean I’m sorry you got upset, I mean I’m sorry we made such an idiot choice. It was stupid. It was just a rover, but we didn’t know that going in. We could’ve been killed, or you could’ve been hurt trying to help us. I know we’ve had a few rocky patches, you and I, but I think you’re lovely, and I’m glad we’re friends.”

“Friends,” repeats Lindsay quietly. There’s something in her voice Gavin can’t quite parse.

“Friends,” he repeats firmly.

Lindsay nods and gestures vaguely. “You can stay for a while if you want.”

Gavin climbs up onto the bed properly, not perched on the very edge anymore, and takes his newfound place right next to her. She wriggles down the bed until she’s lying down so he follows suit, and for a moment all he hears is his own quiet breathing. “Will Michael kill me if I fall asleep here?”

“Maybe,” says Lindsay with a shrug. She yawns, and some of her hair trails against his cheek. It smells like strawberries. “Probably not, though.”

It’s the most reassuring thing she could’ve said, not least because Gavin thinks she’s right. He shuts his eyes and adjusts himself until he’s comfortable, and his arm brushes Lindsay’s. He leaves it there, the warmth of her skin bleeding into him until he’s not shivering anymore, and falls asleep just like that.

//

He wakes up to Michael cursing quietly, and Gavin realizes he’s being carried, Michael jostling him with every step.

“You’re having a laugh,” he says groggily, head balanced precariously against Michael’s shoulder. “You’ll drop me, you mong.” He bats sleepily at Michael, who ignores him.

He’s dumped rather unceremoniously onto the bed he shares with Meg. She grumbles a little but is otherwise undisturbed.

“Your girlfriend,” whispers Michael, pointing at Meg. “My wife,” he whispers, pointing back in the direction he came. 

“Your boi,” says Gavin, pointing at himself.

Michael rolls his eyes spectacularly. He’s smiling, though, dimple popping in his left cheek like it always does when he’s trying not to laugh, and Gavin flaps a hand around uselessly as if illustrating some point before tucking himself under the covers and losing consciousness entirely.

//

The next morning, they’re off work, so Geoff comes over for lunch and a chat. It’s nice in a way that aches in Gavin’s chest, like the universe is conspiring to break his heart as many times as possible before he leaves. 

Michael is sprawled across two cushions, overlapping Lindsay who seems unbothered by his intrusion on her personal space. He has a beer in one hand, and the other is gesturing grandly. “You’re a lucky man, Geoff Ramsey, getting invited to this amazing household.” He’s edging past tipsy, smile loose.

“Yeah, alright kid,” says Geoff, ruffling Michael’s hair as he passes by the back of the couch.

Michael makes a face and brushes him off. “Quit it,” he complains. “I’m not a kid, Geoff, jesus.” He doesn’t look upset, just mildly irritated, which seems to be par for the course; despite Michael’s explosive temper, Gavin hasn’t seen him blow up at Geoff once.

Geoff just smiles and turns to Gavin and Meg. “Do you know how I met Michael?” he asks them, and Lindsay laughs.

“Ugh,” says Michael. He’s been generally shameless about everything since he stopped being so stone-faced, so Gavin perks up a little at the hesitation, curious.

“No,” he says, “is there a story there?” He’d assumed it was just through Lindsay or work, but clearly there’s more to it than that, and Gavin will take all he can get from this before they leave.

Geoff comes around and sits on the loveseat. “He was twenty-three,” says Geoff, expression softening as he reminisces. “Working for some City company trying to get a new suburb going north of San Antonio, was one of their electricians. Turns out the company didn’t ask permission to start commandeering fringe houses outside the City, so I woke up one day to this asshole tinkering around in my breaker box. I almost shot his head off.”

“I wasn’t tinkering,” cuts in Michael, affronted. “I was fixing it. Your wiring was shit.”

“Yeah, thanks,” says Geoff sarcastically, “that’s much better. Anyway, shocker, this fucking hot head started going off on _me_ , asking me what I was doing with a gun and if I was insane, bullshit like that. I told him he could park his ass in the kitchen and answer some questions, or I could show him exactly why I had the gun.”

Meg laughs. “I’m surprised you two didn’t kill each other,” she says lightly, evidently remembering their first run in with Michael on the way here, and his reckless aggression in the face of the unknown. How fast that changed when Gavin stepped into the light.

Michael rolls his eyes. “He was some crazy dude with a gun. I say stupid shit sometimes, but I’m not an idiot.”

Meg concedes the point, and Geoff continues. “I made him a sandwich and asked him what the hell he thought he was doing trespassing. He told me he had some kind of documentation.”

“You told me to shove it up my ass,” says Michael, laughing, “and then invited me to stay for dinner.”

“Hey, I’m a nice guy. I do what I can.”

“You’re a dick is what you are.” Michael takes another swig of beer. “Want more food?” He gestures toward Geoff’s plate, which is now empty of the summer salad that was on it. The green cabbage, apples, and berries are all courtesy of Plot 3 in the back, a fact of which Michael is very proud.

“If you insist,” says Geoff with a grin.

Michael takes the plate back to the kitchen, and Lindsay gathers the other empty ones to take with her to put in the sink. Meg reads the room for a second and goes too, and it leaves just Geoff and Gavin in the warm afternoon light. 

“So you’re going to Austin,” is what Geoff opens with. His eyes are clear, light. They hold no trace of judgment that he can see, but Gavin still feels guilty under his gaze, wishing and wishing that it didn’t feel like leaving has always been an inevitability in his life.

He fiddles with his jeans. “Yeah. Tomorrow night, if it all goes to plan.”

Geoff nods thoughtfully. “And you’re sure Meg feels the same way you do about it?”

“You’re being cryptic, Geoffrey,” answers Gavin, instead of looking at the question head on. “She agreed to it, I’m not kidnapping her. Turney wouldn’t let me, anyway.”

“Uh huh,” says Geoff. He doesn’t look particularly impressed, and his eyes go a little colder, expression a little more closed off. “And you don’t think you’ll get fucking murdered out there?”

Gavin sighs. “We’ll be fine. We’ve thought about it, okay? We’ve considered the danger — it’s not like we’re children, Geoff. Two nights and three days of travel, and then we will arrive in Austin perfectly fine.” Even as Gavin says it, though, he wonders if they really have thought this all the way through. It _will_ be dangerous, certainly, though he and Meg are no strangers to risking their lives. He wonders if they’ve gotten slower on the draw after so many days of syrupy routine and laughter.

Geoff looks like he has more to say, but the others get back to the room and the moment is broken. 

Michael sits down next to Gavin instead of on the loveseat, and throws a hand over the back of the couch, thumb just brushing the skin of Gavin’s shoulder where the collar of his shirt is stretched out. It takes a concerted effort not to shiver.

“So,” Michael says, oblivious to any tension in the room or else having decided to barrel right through it, “did we miss anything?”

“Nah,” replies Geoff definitively. “Nothing important.”

Gavin is thinking about tearing up his roots again, and it’s making his hands shake. He sits on them, pressing his thighs down and trying to find a center of calm. “Right,” he agrees. He can feel his pulse in the hollow of his throat. “Anyway, I heard you all were planning a new series at work?”

Geoff lights up, animatedly describing the idea to the rest of them, and Gavin sits quietly and counts his heartbeats.

//

When Geoff leaves, he hugs Gavin hard on the porch. “Be fucking _careful_ ,” he says into Gavin’s hair. “I’m serious.” 

“We’ll be fine,” says Gavin, not a promise but something close to it. It’s a non-answer, but then again Geoff has probably come to expect those from Gavin. Being a spy makes you good at evading the truth, and being Gavin makes him pretty bad at lying, so he rides the middle line as best he can. “And anyway, we’ll be back to visit soon. Not sure how long we’ll stay away.”

“Don’t be strangers,” agrees Geoff.

Gavin nods, lets Geoff hug him again, and watches as Geoff’s tiny car pulls away from the house and onto the main road, fading from view under a dust cloud and then disappearing behind the tall grass that populates the second plot on the left.

When he goes back inside, Meg has finagled her way atop Lindsay’s shoulders, and the two of them are whacking at Michael with a foam sword.

Michael has his arms up in defense, yelling, “What the fuck? Where did you even get that?”

The only answer is Lindsay’s cackle, and Gavin laughs even as his gut tells him that he’s making the wrong choice.

//

Meg is playing with the ends of her hair like she doesn’t notice she’s doing it, distracted, distant. Gavin wants to know what she’s thinking, but he’s scared to push. It’s been a long, emotional few weeks for all of them, and he would hate to disrupt the tenuous balance they’ve established. Gavin doesn’t even know if he himself is ready for this conversation.

In the end, Meg brings it up on her own. “I don’t know that I want to leave,” she says quietly, still staring at the ceiling as the air from the fan makes the edges of her pyjamas flutter. “Or maybe just wait a while before we do.”

Gavin’s heart stutters, dread and hope intermingling so suddenly he feels sick. “What?” he asks, wishing he was surprised.

“I don’t know,” says Meg, taking a shaky breath. “What are we even gonna find in Austin? We’d just be starting over again, or taking on more work when we just got out. It starts with the documentary, but you know it doesn’t end there. It’s better with you but that’s not- it isn’t enough, Gav. There’s something here for us. I know you see it too, and I think it would be so good. I don’t wanna sit still and do nothing, but-”

“What do you call this, then?” asks Gavin when she cuts herself off. “We’re playing house in no-man’s-land, Turney. Can’t do that forever.” It’s harsher than it needs to be. Gavin feels like a stranger to himself, like someone else is sitting here shooting Meg down in a play to keep their hearts safe. “And anyway, I thought we agreed on this.”

Meg’s jaw clenches, unclenches. “I know,” she says. It’s barely more than a breath. “I know that, and I’m with you, Gav. I’ve been with you. I don’t want to fight about this. But I keep thinking maybe we’re making a mistake.”

“Our orders-” starts Gavin.

“Fuck our orders,” says Meg. “We don’t work for them anymore. Maybe they can find someone else.”

When she looks up at Gavin, her eyes are shining, and something in Gavin’s chest splinters. It’s impossible to even consider this, not when he’s already grieved this impending loss. “They can’t,” he says, and he feels almost as desperate as she looks. “You know that, Turney. And if you want to stay, I won’t stop you, but they need us there. I have to go.” It feels like a flimsier excuse every time he uses it, but he can’t bring himself to stop.

They have to leave. They _have_ to leave. It echoes in his head like a prayer repeated over and over, shiny and worn from running his fingers over it.

“We’ll come back, then,” says Meg, crossing her arms, and he knows she won’t be moved on this.

She’s right, and he’s tired of fighting, too. “We will,” he answers. “As soon as you want. And if I’m being a mong once we get there, I’m giving you permission to knock some sense into me.”

Meg closes her eyes and sighs deeply. It’s quiet for a moment, the two of them just breathing, and Gavin wants more than anything to say _bollocks to it all_ and stay exactly where they are. He’s not good at having a home, but he could try, maybe. For Meg, for Michael, for Lindsay. For his own good, too, in the moments he can admit to himself that he doesn’t want to run forever.

But his pathetic coward’s heart. But all the ways it could go wrong. But the ways it already has.

“This was good,” says Meg finally, quiet. “The four of us here. Wasn’t it?”

 _It broke my heart_ , Gavin thinks but doesn’t say.

//

In the end, the goodbyes are short. They’ve said the things they were brave enough to say already. If Gavin’s heart feels bruised and sore, so be it; this is their choice, and they can’t afford to look back. They’ll return soon, thinks Gavin resolutely. He lets the thought buoy him out of the despair trying to claw him down. He doesn’t know when, or how, or if Michael and Lindsay will even still be here, but the vague plan is still that this leaving is temporary. Just this once, they’ll have a home base as a touchstone, waiting for them to come back.

Gavin Free, wishing for stability. Imagine that. 

Meg squeezes his hand tight as they walk away, packs heavy on their backs.

They only make it a few hundred yards before they’re stopped.

Gavin is spun around, one hand on his shoulder and the other on his opposite arm. He flails, panicky. They’re just ten minutes from the house; there shouldn’t have been trouble. Not yet, not this soon. His hands smack into his assailant, and then his wrists are being held loosely. His attacker is laughing.

“Idiot,” says Michael, “I gave you that gun for a reason, come on. Where’s that spy training?”

“I wouldn’t have shot you,” says Gavin. 

Michael rolls his eyes spectacularly. “I could’ve been a murderer.”

“Then I would’ve shot you,” says Meg, where she is, in fact, pointing a gun square between Michael’s eyes. She lowers it slowly, and she’s smiling but it’s shaky with adrenaline and something else, too. “What are you doing out here?”

Michael sobers, crossing his arms. “You shouldn’t leave.”

“What?” asks Gavin. He’d thought they were past this part.

Michael doubles down, though. “You shouldn’t. What are you gonna find there that you can’t find here? We still don’t know who the fuck is surveilling us, and we have a fucking chore rotation. Gav, come on, you know I don’t trust easy, but you two fucking fit into our lives perfectly.” His cheeks are lit up with a hectic flush. His hands are shaking.

“The job,” says Gavin, helpless.

“Fuck that,” shoots back Michael. “I left first. I know I did, and guess what? I was _wrong._ I don’t regret meeting Lindsay and making a new home out here, but I can’t let you just walk away from this without trying to get it through your thick skull that this _matters_.”

Gavin runs a hand through his hair, mussing it all up. He must look like a damn idiot, but he doesn’t care. “Say we stay. Are we just going to be a picture of domestic bliss after what Meg and I have done? Pretending that’s all kosher and cool? I’ve killed people, and we’re going to act like that’s normal?”

“Maybe!” bursts out Michael. “That’s what we’ve been doing, and you didn’t seem to hate it. Do you really want to have to be watching your back every five seconds?”

“We’re just filming a documentary,” answers Gavin, as evenly as he can. He notes, distantly, that he’s trembling all over. “It won’t be that dangerous. They just need us to-”

“Burnie and them, they don’t need you more than we do.” Michael’s chin is tilted up, stubborn. His defiance is backlit, bright, beautiful.

“We’d rip each other’s heads off,” shoots back Gavin, dogged in his defense, and he can feel himself verging on hysteria as he continues. “Lindsay doesn’t even bloody trust me, and if we stay and something happened, or you lot changed your minds, what if you regret ever even-”

“Gav,” interrupts Meg quietly, and his words die in his throat. She’s standing a little to the side, watching Michael and Gavin have this faceoff, and her breathing is shuddery like she’s trying not to cry. “Do you want to leave because you think it’s a good idea, or because you’re scared that it’ll go wrong if we don’t?”

Turney and her leading questions. 

There’s a moment where he wants to spit back fire. They’re not even out of sight of the Jones house yet, and this feels like a failed mission if Gavin ever saw one. It’s _Meg_ , though. He’s put his life in her hands a hundred times, and she’s never once let him down. Compared to that, this is a no-brainer.

He’s ignored her at every turn, thinking his perspective makes more sense, but he doesn’t feel strong anymore. It’s late, and dark, and he’s scared. He’s so scared. Even more than that, he’s been a complete idiot, most unfair to the girl he’s loved for years.

“What do you think we should do?” he asks her, which is as much of an answer as it is a question. He tries to infuse it with apology for his hard-headed idiocy.

Meg smiles, a small, tired thing, and Michael is frozen watching this happen. “You know what I think,” says Meg.

Gavin holds her gaze for a moment and then turns back to Michael, and the flutter in his chest is almost as exhilarating as it is terrifying. He’s never been great at concession but this doesn’t feel like one, not the way others have in the past. “And you,” says Gavin to Michael’s dark eyes, “what do you think?”

Michael grins. He steps forward, grabs Gavin’s face in his hands, and pulls him into a searing kiss that Gavin melts under. He’s demanding, insistent, more confident than he used to be. Gavin missed him like a hole in his chest. When they pull back for air, Michael tips their foreheads together. “Stay,” he breathes, soft and fervent like a prayer.

“Okay,” whispers Gavin. If it feels like the final nail in the coffin, so be it. He has time to train himself out of that now, and he has a feeling the people around him won’t mind reminding him. His eyes slip shut again without his permission, fear cresting up in his chest, and Michael kisses him a second time, then a third.

Meg’s eyes are wet, but she’s smiling when the two break apart. “I fully expect a turn at that tomorrow,” she says. “And with Lindsay, too.”

Gavin hadn’t considered Michael and Meg kissing before, but the image that puts in his head sends a flash of heat through him. Meg and Lindsay, too, and then he imagines kissing Lindsay himself, and the possibilities are suddenly dizzying. Surely this isn’t possible. He wants to balk, cite duty again, but he can only do that so many times before everything loses its meaning, and he’s sick of his own selfish fear.

“Definitely,” says Michael. He looks weak with relief, an unusual but not unpleasant look on him. “Now let’s go back inside, it gets fucking cold out here at night.”

He’s right. With how barren the landscape is, there’s little to trap the heat, which Meg and Gavin learned intimately on their way here. The wind is biting at Gavin’s neck, his hands, his ankles, all the spots where he has skin exposed to the air. “Right,” he says, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Meg relax, like she was worried he’d double back on his decision.

They walk back to the house together. “Lindsay’s sleeping,” says Michael quietly when they get to the front door, with the softest smile Gavin has ever seen on him. “We’ll all talk in the morning. Get some rest.”

“Thanks,” murmurs Meg. She reaches out and squeezes Michael’s arm, and he leans into the touch. 

They’re all emotionally exhausted, and Gavin has no idea how he’s going to contact Burnie to let them know about the change in plans, but a massive weight has been lifted from his shoulders. Gavin feels like he can breathe again. And for the first time in five years, he feels like he’s home for keeps.

//

He wakes up in the middle of the night to find Meg already awake. He mumbles a drowsy greeting, and she kisses him, then brushes his hair back from his forehead.

“Hi,” she says.

He blinks at her, then tugs her closer. They’re quiet for a bit until the silence is broken, their bodies pressed against each other.

“You two were together,” says Meg. She’s rolled onto her side on the mattress, her hair spilling onto the pillow they’re sharing, and her expression is gentled by the weak moonlight. 

Gavin feels overexposed, like she could look through him and see his bones with no trouble at all. “Yeah,” he answers, feels like it’s been torn out of him. Meg knew this already, but he doubts it was real for her before today. Confronting a ghost from your past is different when he’s actually standing in front of you. When he fights back. When he kisses you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

“How,” starts Gavin slowly, stuttery, “do we know this is the right call? Everything changes, and it’s based off of one spur of the moment choice.”

“It didn’t feel spur of the moment to me,” says Meg.

Gavin thinks of the way he and Lindsay have slowly grown closer, getting to understand each other. How unbearably relieved he was to see Michael alive that first night, and how fast that transitioned to missing what they used to have together. How perfectly he and Meg fit into this house, and what that means.

“I’m used to things going wrong,” he says. “With Michael...you didn’t know me right when he left. It was bad, Turney. What we had was good, and it just disappeared. I don’t want that to happen again.”

“I know this is scary for you,” answers Meg.

Gavin’s only reply is a mirthless laugh. It’s embarrassing, a little, to be confronted by his own fear, but she has a point, and maybe that’s what this running has always been about. Maybe he’s been scared from the start. Of this, and of everything else.

“I need you to trust me,” she continues. “We’re fine, but you gotta trust me.”

“I trust you,” says Gavin, and resolves to do better. “I get stuck in the past sometimes is all, but I’m sorry for not listening. I got so caught up in myself that I just focused on what could go wrong.”

Meg hums a quiet acknowledgement, squeezing his hand, and a few moments pass before she speaks again. “Were you happy?” she asks. “You and Michael?”

Gavin spent five years training himself how to answer that question, but just a few weeks have wiped all pretense clean away. After tonight, he’s as transparent as a pane of glass. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, we were.” 

“Then we’ll figure it out. Go back to sleep, boy.” She kicks his shin gently and shifts so she has her head on his shoulder. She sounds so confident he can’t help but listen to her.

Gavin falls asleep thinking about everything that hasn’t changed, and more importantly everything that has.

//

They wake up to the sound of cursing coming from the kitchen. Metal is clanging, bacon is sizzling, and Michael is apparently trying to mute the sound of his own frustration by only shouting at half volume. It’s Michael, though, so it’s still pretty bloody loud.

Gavin huffs a laugh, tugging the covers down from where they’d been pulled all the way up to his chin. Some things don’t change.

Meg groans and whacks him in the arm. “Too early,” she mumbles.

“Nah,” disagrees Gavin, quiet enough that his love of being contrary doesn’t seem to bother her. He peels himself out of bed slowly, trying to hold onto the peace that had accompanied his sleep after he and Meg had spoken the night before. 

He takes a shower first, scrubbing the night from him. There was some dirt on his ankles, some dust at his hands and wrists, and he’s careful to remove all traces of the harsh landscape, at least for now. They have a lot of figuring out do today, and he’d rather do it from a fresh start, even if it’s fabricated.

He’s drying off his hair when Meg stumbles into the bathroom half-asleep. “Hello,” he says.

She mumbles something in return, then reaches out and tweaks his nose. He scrunches his face up in return, earning a giggle, and heads out into the bedroom to put on some clothes, most of which he bought on trips with Lindsay upon Michael’s insistence. At the time, he thought it was ridiculous, but it had quickly become apparent that three outfits wouldn’t suffice, and he’s grateful for that choice now.

He opts for rough jeans and a soft cotton t-shirt, a departure from the sharpness he grew so accustomed to back in the City. He’s trying to get settled. He may as well look the part.

In the kitchen, Michael is, in fact, making breakfast. 

“Hiya,” says Gavin as he walks in.

Michael turns around, and his smile is as relieved as it is brilliant. “Honestly, I kinda thought you would sneak out before we woke up.”

“Is that why you’re up so early?” asks Gavin, to mask the fact that he genuinely considered it.

“No,” says Michael, and Gavin can tell he means _sorta_ , but also that Gavin is forgiven. “Is Meg awake? This’ll be ready in a couple minutes.”

“She’s up, she’ll be out in a jiff. What about Lindsay? Does she even know we’re still here?”

Michael nods, turns back to the eggs. “She didn’t sleep well,” he says with his back turned. “Sleep paralysis, or whatever the shit she has. Woke her up super early, so I explained everything.” He laughs a little. “She was pretty annoyed I ran out alone last night, but whatever. Worth it.”

The nape of Michael’s neck is pink, and Gavin beams. He’s scared, but he’s happy in a way he tried not to allow himself to be.

Meg wanders out next, glasses low on her nose, t-shirt rumpled on one side where it had rucked up in her sleep. She goes straight to Gavin, hugging him from behind and pressing her face into the space between his shoulders. She’s warm, and Gavin relaxes into it, feeling more grounded. Every time the anxiety threatens to crest again, there’s something to bring him back down. Because he’s him, he can’t help but wonder when he’ll crash, but he can hope he won’t.

“Need help?” asks Meg, mumbly, addressing it over Gavin’s shoulder.

“You can start on the pancakes if you want,” answers Michael, gesturing absently toward the ingredients for the batter, all laid out and measured carefully on the counter.

Meg wanders over. “So organized,” she comments, smiling. “Gav, wanna see if Lindsay’s ready?”

Gavin is going to mention that they really should just let Lindsay rest based on what Michael told him earlier, but then a voice comes from the doorway. “I’m ready. And can I just say, you two are a sight for sore eyes.”

The late summer light pours through the window as the sun properly rises, and everything goes gold. Gavin feels tongue-tied. He wants to say something profound, something that will forgive their leaving without apologizing, or at the very least something to ease the shame he feels at never really knowing what he wants. 

Meg called him selfish once, a long time ago, in the fight that almost broke them up back in the City. It stung because she was right. Gavin is tunnel vision, getting caught up in his plans, never ever stopping even when it hurts him or the people around him. He’s not whatever this is, with the eggs cooking and Michael soft and smiling and Meg focused on mixing the pancake batter. And Lindsay in the doorway, hair pulled back messily, so much kindness in the tired lines around her eyes.

Playing house, he’d called it. Playing for keeps, he thinks now.

“Didn’t want you to be lonely at work,” he says. “Besides, what we have here compared to what’s in Austin- it was a no-brainer. Just needed a reminder, I guess.”

“What you have here?” asks Lindsay, and if it was anyone else in the world he might feel defensive, but Lindsay’s gaze is gentle, curious. 

After everything, he owes her an honest answer more than anyone. “Yeah. I was a moron, earlier, when I said we couldn’t stay. Talked out of my arse for weeks because I was scared.” It’s easier to say now that he has what he was afraid to even want. “I don’t know that I’ll be any good at this, but I’d like to be.”

Lindsay smiles, slow at first and then growing brighter, warmer, until Gavin feels overwhelmed with her forgiveness and joy. “I missed you guys,” she says.

“We were only gone for a few minutes,” Gavin feels obligated to point it.

Lindsay is still smiling, even as she shrugs unrepentantly. “Still missed you.”

“Awwww,” coos Meg from where she’s stirring batter, and the moment dissolves into sweet laughter.

They eat breakfast together at the small table, and afterwards Michael collects the plates. Meg helps him with the dishes, a tried and true routine, and when they’re done the four of them are just sitting there looking at each other. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but it is expectant. “Well,” says Gavin, breaking it, “what now?”

“Well,” says Meg, arching a brow, “I _was_ promised a kiss.”

Michael grins, just shy of predatory, and Gavin’s heart tries to somersault in his chest. “It’s true,” admits Michael. “And I always keep my promises.”

Time seems to slow as Meg saunters up to Michael, her walk ever-confident. Her smirk challenges his, and the two of them are electric. From the breadth of his shoulders to the swing of her hips, Gavin is entranced, and they haven’t even touched yet.

When they do, he bites his lower lip to stop himself from gasping. Michael reaches for Meg’s waist and tugs her in. Her hands go to his shoulders, then up to hang to loosely around his neck. “Hey Lindsay,” says Meg, twisting around in Michael’s arms to face her, “he any good at this?”

“Eh,” says Lindsay, wiggling her hand to express uncertainty while Michael splutters offendedly.

Gavin giggles. “He’s lovely,” he chimes in, and Michael smiles at him, pleased.

Meg smiles, too. She’d done her eyeliner this morning, black smudged carefully around her eyes, probably in preparation for this, and the look in her eyes has Gavin feeling weak at the knees. She looks like she wants to eat them all alive. Like she knows she deserves this, and she’s not going to wait for it to pass her by.

She tangles one hand in Michael’s hair and tugs him down until they’re kissing.

Gavin thought, when Meg first mentioned this being a possibility last night, that some part of him might be jealous watching this. Jealous of who, he wasn’t even sure, but it doesn’t matter, because there isn’t a jealous bone in his body. It’s been chased away by the heat coursing through his veins at the sight before him. Meg, never one to sit politely and wait her turn, has one hand twined in Michael’s curls and the other at his jaw, attempting to guide him into following her lead. Michael, on the other side, has one hand on her waist and one on the side of her neck, and seems to be giving as good as he’s got.

“Goddamn,” says Lindsay appreciatively.

Gavin can only nod. Goddamn, indeed.

Meg tilts her head to change the angle, and raises up onto her tiptoes. Michael adjusts his grip on her waist, helping hold her up, and it looks effortless for him. Meg is small, but she isn’t weightless. The reminder that Michael is, in fact, significantly stronger than the kid Gavin met at age twenty sends another flash of heat through him, curling in the bottom of his stomach.

When the two of them finally pull apart, Michael’s hair is mussed beyond repair and Meg’s lips, red from the kissing, are curled into a sly smile. “Not bad, Jones.”

Michael’s answering smirk is animalistic. “Not so bad yourself.”

Meg’s hand is still resting on Michael’s face, though more gently now. Gavin feels like someone has tugged a fantasy straight out of his head and recreated it in front of him. He doesn’t know what deity he pleased enough to allow this, but he’s grateful all the same.

“Your turn!” It takes Gavin a moment to realize that he’s being addressed, but Meg is smiling encouragingly at him, then glancing none-so-subtly at Lindsay, who blinks like she’s surprised but not against the idea.

“What do you reckon?” asks Gavin, glancing at her. Some part of him still feels shy. “You up for it, Lindsay?”

He was right to phrase it like a dare, because her answering nod is all business, softened by the way her fading blonde hair frames her face. “Born ready. Prepare to have your world rocked.”

Maybe she was planning this, because as soon as Gavin starts laughing Lindsay puts both of her hands on his cheeks — a move she likely learned from Michael considering how fond he is of it — and his laughter dies in his throat when she kisses him.

Having most recently dated two bossy control freaks who like to push his buttons, what strikes Gavin most about Lindsay in this instant is her patience. She kisses him slow, unhurried, like they have all the time in the world to figure this out. 

They trade off on setting the pace, and it’s a kind of gentleness that Gavin isn’t used to pairing with intimacy like this. She smells like strawberries and moves like a cresting wave, the push then the retreat, the easy curve of her body tucked against Gavin’s. 

“Okay,” says Meg, clapping her hands together. Gavin pulls back reluctantly, and laughs when Lindsay winks at him. “Come here, Linds,” continues Meg. “Let’s keep it even.”

Lindsay apparently doesn’t need to be asked twice. She puts her hands in Meg’s belt loops once she’s close enough and pulls her in close, so gentle and intimate Gavin almost looks away.

Only almost, though. This is, after all, a view he’d hate to miss.

Michael comes up behind him, palming the front of his jeans with a warm hand. “You good?” he asks, a little bit teasing, because Gavin is harder in his trousers than he even realized himself. 

Gavin leans into the touch. “Very,” he says, and can’t even be embarrassed about how breathy it is.

Michael shifts, and then his hand is just sneaking under the waistband of Gavin’s boxers, teasing at the skin of his waistline. “I think they want to go to the bedroom,” he murmurs, encouraging Gavin to look at where the girls’ makeout has evolved into heavy petting, Meg’s hand shoved in Lindsay’s back pocket and Lindsay cupping Meg’s breasts.

Meg makes a sound so sweet Gavin’s fingers twitch, wanting to reach out and touch. “Yeah,” he says, “yeah, we should.”

The girls lead the way, Meg tugging Lindsay by the hand, and Michael extricates himself from where he’d been plastered across Gavin for long enough to follow. Meg is stripping off her shirt before she’s even all the way through the door, prompting the rest of them to do the same. Gavin’s heart is beating hard, a phenomenon only exacerbated when Michael bodily maneuvers him until Gavin is flat on his back on the bed, losing his breath in a single _whoosh_.

“He’s pretty, isn’t he?” asks Meg absently to the others, trailing a hand down Gavin’s chest. He shivers.

“Lots of chest hair,” remarks Lindsay. “More than I was expecting.”

Michael bursts out laughing at Gavin’s indignant squawk. “Yup,” he concurs. “It’s like he has a pelt.”

“Hey,” complains Gavin, trying to sit up, but Meg places a hand flat in the center of his chest and pushes him back down.

Gavin goes, but he does huff. Meg leans down to kiss him placatingly. “Don’t pout, boy,” she murmurs. 

Lindsay tugs a hand through Gavin’s hair, tightening just a little around the strands so she can pull his head up and suck a bruise into his neck. She scrapes her teeth gently against the skin as it forms, and Gavin shuts his eyes, a low moan building in his throat.

It’s then that Meg unbuttons his jeans. She and Michael make quick work of taking them off, and then Meg has a hand in his boxers and Gavin is trying to squirm into two warring sensations, both overwhelming in different ways.

And then Michael comes around the side of the bed and starts trailing kisses up his jaw, and Gavin whines. “This is bloody unfair,” he manages, pinned under Meg’s thighs where she’s straddling his own. His face feels hot, blush rising high on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. 

"Is there a plan here?" asks Gavin after a few moments. If there's too much more of this distraction, especially while they're tag teaming him, he's going to start making some very embarrassing noises, and he'd rather not break the mood quite yet. "Not that this isn't lovely and all, but-"

He gasps when Meg tightens her grip around his cock, stroking faster, and feels his back arch as he twitches on the mattress. "Down boy," says Meg, amused. It sounds like she's going to start laughing at any moment, but there's also a breathy quality to her voice, and when Gavin glances over properly he realizes that she has Lindsay's hand between her legs, stroking at the same pace as Meg is on Gavin, a bizarre kind of connection that has him feeling all the more hot and bothered for having noticed it.

"What do you think, Gav?" asks Michael. "You want me to fuck you? Or you want to keep it a little less intense this time around?"

As if Michael has any room to talk about _intense_. Gavin is fully prepared to say that they can keep it chill, really. What they have going now is great, and maybe if he’s patient they'll even let him up to participate a bit more in his own undoing. What comes out, though, is a strained, "Please," whiny even by his own standards, as his hips keep trying to pump into Meg's fist. "God, yes, please."

Lindsay hums appreciatively at his desperation, tucking some of his sweaty fringe away from his forehead. "I'm sure we can make that happen."

Michael steps away and starts rummaging in the drawer of the side table, presumably for lube and a condom, and Meg eases up on Gavin, her grip loosening a little. He bites his lower lip to stop from vocalizing his frustration. He's close, closer than he usually would be this early in the game, but it's not his fault that this entire experience has been mind-blowingly hot. There's no guidebook for dating your ex-boyfriend and his wife, and even if there was, it probably wouldn't have a chapter on how not to blow your load because of how good they are in bed.

Lindsay leans down to suck another hickey into the soft spot where his neck meets his jaw, and Gavin gets lost in the feeling, one hand coming up to wind his fingers into the hair at Lindsay's nape, and the other still resting on Meg's waist, helpless against the sensation attacking him from all sides.

Meg moves, then, perching instead on the bed next to Gavin, and it gives Michael a chance to pull Gavin's knees up, leaving him exposed. "Help me out," says Michael, gesturing toward Gavin's legs, and Gavin hooks his hands behind his knees to hold himself where Michael wants him.

Gavin is headstrong, but he's learned over the years that he likes being bossed around a little in bed, and it seems like Michael never forgot that.

A cold finger probes at him, and Gavin wants to throw an arm over his face to hide his reaction. He can't do that in the position he's in, though, and it makes him blush all the hotter, feeling exposed like this.

"Good?" asks Michael after a few seconds.

Gavin takes a breath, adjusts. "Steady on," he answers. It's been a while since he was properly fucked, but he figures it's like riding a bike.

His body knows how to react, at least, because when Michael adds a second finger a spark ignites in his belly, overshadowing the twinge of pain. It's all pleasure now, especially once Meg gets her hand back on his cock, just this side of too tight, twisting her hand at the top with each stroke.

"I'm getting there," says Michael, in response to the noise Gavin is making. Gavin is breathing hard, but it takes him a moment to realize he's also whimpering quietly. True to his word, Michael adds a third finger, and carefully stretches him while Lindsay alternates between marking up his neck and whispering filth into his ear.

"Look so good," Lindsay is saying, "lying back like that. I bet you'll look even better when Michael's inside of you."

"Lindsay," gasps Gavin. His face must be flaming with how hot it feels, but he can't say this isn't doing anything for him. That'd be a bold-faced lie, anyway, and Gavin resolved just last night to start being more honest about his feelings, didn’t he?

She just puts a hand in his hair again, tugging so that his head is back against the pillow when Michael finally enters him. The stretch has his back arching, hands digging into the meat of his own thighs, both of which are shaking. It's been a long time since anyone fucked Gavin, but he remembers this, remembers Michael and how solid and steady he is, how determined to have fun at the same time as trying make Gavin forget his own name. He's giving that a good shout, honestly. With Meg and Lindsay adding onto the pile of distractions, the sentences Gavin keeps trying to make slip away from him.

He wanted to say something about the bed, he thinks, about how they need to careful not to break because it sure would be funny if-

Meg kisses him, nipping at his now sore and swollen lips, and the train of thought dissipates into smoke.

She still has a hand on his cock, stroking and riling him up, and it honestly is going to be a short show at this rate, all of the sensations colliding and making his muscles tighten up in anticipation.

"I'm gonna-" he manages, through gritted teeth. "Please, I'm-"

"That's it," grunts Michael. He sounds pleased about it through the exertion. "You feel so good, fuck." His brow is knitted in concentration.

"I can tell you’re close, babe," says Meg, practically a purr, “just let go,” and in the end that's what makes Gavin lose it.

He comes on a shaky, embarrassing moan, drawn out and reedy with arousal, and he doesn't even have the cognitive sense to be bothered by it, not when he feels this good. It seems like it goes on for ages, even though realistically it can't be more than a few moments. Still, when he starts to come down from the high, he feels Michael’s thrusting go more erratic before he pushes in one last time and holds their hips flush together, spilling into the condom and leaving what will likely become bruises on Gavin's skin.

Gavin's eyes flutter as Michael pulls out, and Gavin's body goes lax as everyone stops their ministrations upon him. Meg is the last to move away, leaving one final open-mouthed kiss on his jaw with a sparkle in her eye. Her mischievous expression promises that she wants to push him even further to the brink someday, and Gavin looks forward to it with a kind of anxious resignation laced with a thrill that tries to get his dick up again after all it's been through.

"Christ alive," he mutters, finally getting to throw an arm over his face. Michael rubs his thighs after helping Gavin rest them back on the bed before heading to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. "Bloody put me through the ringer there."

Lindsay laughs and pats him on the cheek, sweet and genial. "You mind if Meg and I go ahead and take our turn?"

Gavin squints at her. "Does it require me getting it up again anytime soon?"

"I was thinking I'd just eat her out, honestly," says Lindsay, “after she was so sweet about getting me off earlier.”

He must not even have noticed Meg making Lindsay come with how overwhelmed he was, but he can certainly imagine it now. Gavin's cock makes another effort at twitching, and Gavin lets out a weak moan, almost silent, that breaks in the middle. "By all means," he answers, "don't let me stop you."

That's when Michael returns with a wet cloth and tosses it at Gavin. It lands on Gavin's face, and he splutters as the girls lie down next to him on the massive bed. He sighs and grabs it, wiping himself off as Lindsay gets settled between Meg's legs, before tossing the cloth right back at Michael.

Michael pulls a face but catches it and throws it in the basket. "Gross, dude."

"Gross?" asks Gavin over Meg's breathy moans. "You just had your literal penis in me, and you think that's gross?"

"Is this what this is gonna be like?" asks Michael, walking back over and lying directly on top of Gavin. He's heavy, but it's a warm weight, comforting and even sweet. Gavin, in the moments since everyone retreated, missed the contact, and by now they all know that he will take any excuse to be touching someone, especially post-coitus.

Meg is now chanting Lindsay's name, both hands in the other girl's hair, face scrunched up the way that it gets when she's about to come.

"God," says Gavin, still basking in his afterglow and swimming in the relief of staying, "I really hope so."

//

An hour or so later, they’ve all gotten cleaned up, and Meg and Michael head out to start laying out fruit to dry. It’s a Saturday, so Gavin and Lindsay don’t have to go to the office, and they offer to help with the farm work.

“You bet your ass you’re helping,” is Michael’s reply, but he’s smiling a small, pleased smile and he hands them hats to shield them from the sun. “We don’t always need ‘em in the fall,” he explains, gesturing around at the way the changing of the seasons has dulled the hot sun, “but that one sunburns in like five seconds.” He points to Lindsay, who acknowledges the point with a rueful shrug.

“Got them white person genes,” she says. 

Michael rolls his eyes, fondness radiating from him in waves. “Anyway, we should try to be quick, because we’re working later than usual. We got a little sidetracked this morning.”

Sidetracked is an understatement, and Gavin can’t quite help his snort of laughter.

The afternoon passes rather peacefully, all things considered. Michael gets started on hoeing the dry soil for the fall crops, and Gavin and Meg drop handfuls of seeds along the neat rows. In the meantime, Lindsay appears to be wrestling with the end of a hose, fiddling with the spigot until water starts to trickle from the holes in the side of the rubber and onto the dirt.

“That’ll do it,” says Lindsay, smiling. She’s radiant in the sun. “Anything else we should be working on today?”

Michael stares at the area they just worked on, gaze assessing. “We could do another few rows,” he muses. “Then we can take it easy the rest of the weekend. I have to head into the office a couple evenings next week, so if we get a lot done now it’ll be easier later.”

“Always the practical one,” says Gavin, voice lilting. It’s teasing, playful, even though it’s true and certainly not a bad thing.

Michael sticks his tongue out. Practical, yeah, but not mature. Gavin wouldn’t have him any other way.

/ /

The weekend is a montage of work and sex interspersed with making meals together. Michael breaks out the flour and eggs he’d secretly gotten on a late morning market trip a little while back and the four of them try to bake a cake as an early celebration for Lindsay’s birthday. It turns out quite poorly, since they’re not working from a recipe book, but it’s the most fun Gavin has had in ages.

On Monday, Gavin surprises Geoff at the office. It had been Lindsay’s idea, partly because she loves to pull pranks and partly because she thinks it’s funny when Geoff cries, and Gavin is perfectly happy to go along with it. He figures Geoff will get a little misty and hug him a bit, and then they can both move on with their days.

He’s not expecting to be yelled into next Thursday, but that’s exactly what happens. 

“You fucking asshole!” starts Geoff, standing up from his desk as soon as he catches sight of Gavin. Gavin flinches, twitching backwards, but Geoff doesn’t stop advancing. “You idiotic shitbasket of a moron! How fucking dare you? No- don’t even answer that, you fucker, don’t look at me like that. I am _pissed_ at you! You know who called me this morning? Burnie Burns, that’s who fuckin’ called me. And you know what he said? You wanna take a guess?”

“You talked to Burnie?” asks Gavin. He doesn’t know what his expression looks like, but it’s probably similar to that of a fish out of water, dazed and gaping.

The sound Geoff releases then is practically a shriek. “Of course I did! And he told me you never went to see him when you said you would, and that it was possible you — you absolute _idiot_ — had gone and gotten yourself shot between here and Austin because you decided to try to leave at the last second. And then you show up here! Without fucking breathing a word to me! How fucking dare you?”

There are a lot of things Gavin could say, but what comes out is, “Would take more than a random gunner to off me, though, wouldn’t it?”

“You’re impossible,” replies Geoff, and then wraps Gavin up in a suffocating hug and refuses to let up until Gavin has wheezed an apology. “Get into my office, I’ll call Burnie and we’ll settle this.”

Geoff leads the way. Gavin, nervous, hesitates for a moment, and Lindsay reaches out and squeezes his hand.

He lets his shoulders drop. “I’m good,” he says, grateful for her presence. He can do this alone, though; he wouldn’t have been able to live with Geoff for so long if he couldn’t handle the emotional extremes that come with that.

The phone is ringing on speaker when Gavin walks into Geoff’s office and shuts the door behind him.

“Hello?” Burnie sounds harried.

Geoff gestures at Gavin, a silent _after you_. “Hi, Burnie,” says Gavin. “We tried to reach you, but this happened very last minute and I didn’t have a contact for you.”

“Jesus, kid,” says Burnie on a whoosh of breath. “We thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere.”

“Not dead,” answers Gavin, managing a weak smile. “Meg’s fine, too. We’re not leaving, though.”

“Not leaving,” repeats Burnie. He sounds surprised, but not angry. “What changed?”

Gavin shrugs, knows Burnie can’t see him. “Nothing. Just me, I guess.” He’s thinking soft brown eyes, hearty laughter, quick hands. Thinking the baking sun and how different it feels when he’s stationary, how hard it was to travel in it but how sweet it is now that he’s staying still.

Burnie sighs again. “It’s gonna slow down our work here. We were waiting for you.”

Guilt tugs at Gavin. It’s Geoff, though, that answers. “Burnie,” says the other man, and he looks confident, older. Not exactly like the Geoff that Gavin used to know so well. “The kid’s happy. You gonna take that away from him so your movie looks pretty?”

“It’s not that simple,” says Burnie, but there’s defeat in his tone, something yielding. “Is it true, Gav? You and Meg...you guys putting down roots?”

Gavin’s heart feels wobbly. “Yeah,” he says, and he thought it would be terrifying to admit, but it’s not scary at all. “We’re not retired or anything, but I need a bit to get my head on straight, and this feels like a good place to do it.”

Gavin has been running since he was seventeen and dreamed about changing the world. He’s done that. He’s still doing it. 

Sometimes, though, the world is a small house with windows that rattle during storms and a gun hidden in every room. It took him a decade to figure that out, but he did, and it was worth it. With that in mind, it’s easy to sound confident when he tells Burnie the plan. It’s harder to feel one hundred percent sure in his own heart, but he’ll get there. He has to hope he’ll get there.

“If that changes,” says Burnie, “we’ll be here, and Geoff knows how to reach me.”

“Thanks,” answers Gavin, chest tight. “Thank you a lot.”

“Take care.” 

Burnie rings off, and Gavin is left in Geoff’s office feeling light and lost and weak with gratitude. The fluorescent lights make the room unnaturally bright like the start of everything.

“You okay?” asks Geoff. His anger has burned off, replaced by wry gentleness.

Gavin hugs him tight. “I’m good,” he answers into Geoff’s shoulder. “I’m great.”

“Good,” says Geoff, an echo. “You wanna go watch Lindsay record, then?”

Gavin is nodding before they even break apart, thinking that a shot of undiluted joy would be nice right about now. “Do I ever.”

Geoff pats him on the shoulder, and they go to watch Lindsay work.

//

The restaurant is a novelty. It’s traveling, or so the owner said. “Isn’t that dangerous?” asks Meg over her ravioli. She and Lindsay appear to have engaged in a very competitive game of footsie under the table, only noticeable because Gavin’s shins keep suffering collateral damage.

“Eh,” says the owner, a young man named Jeremy, waving his hand in a squiggly motion. “I’ve taken some bullets, sure.” He sounds remarkably nonchalant about it, and Gavin likes him immediately.

“You sticking around, Jeremy?” he asks.

Jeremy’s eyebrows go up, but he doesn’t look offended, just surprised. “Actually, yeah,” he answers. “Business has been pretty good, and there’s a company nearby that offered a space for me to use in their building to settle down. The owner seemed a little, uh…”

“Intense?” offers Michael.

“Shrill,” answers Jeremy, coloring slightly. “More than I was expecting. He’s higher pitched in person, I mean. Not that I- sorry, okay, this is embarrassing, but I like Red vs Blue a lot, and I also really enjoy Rage Quit.” He snaps his mouth shut after he’s done talking, eyes a little wide like a deer in headlights. Gavin doesn’t have to look at the rest of the table to know that they’re all charmed.

Lindsay gasps. “A fan!” It’s more dramatic than it needs to be. Michael shushes her like it was an accident on her part, but Gavin thinks she’s just enjoying watching Jeremy squirm.

“Anyway,” Jeremy says quickly, brushing it off, “I think I will stay for a while, yeah. This was fun as a traveling thing, but I want to settle down before the nights start getting too cold again, and this place is nice. Cool people, good vibe. Or maybe there’s just something in the water here.”

Maybe there is, thinks Gavin, and it makes him smile. “We’ll see you around, then.”

“Sure,” answers Jeremy, collecting their plates. “See you around, pal.”

The tables and chairs start disappearing around them as they linger, Lindsay’s eyes bright over her glass as she takes slow sips of her wine, and when they finally leave the night is sparkling with more stars than Gavin ever saw in the City.

//

Days pass, and Gavin thinks about his new life.

Michael drags him back down onto the bed with an arm around his waist, thoroughly distracting him, and Gavin laughs as he’s pulled. The mattress bounces him, and the sheets crinkle at his sides. A hand brushes his hair back from his face, and another traces the line of his jaw. 

The four of them still sleep in pairs in different rooms, but the lines are starting to blur. They use both rooms for sex, and almost any room in the house for napping. Just yesterday afternoon Gavin fell asleep with his head in Lindsay’s lap, her fingers braiding the tips of his hair where it’s started to get long and floppy again. Michael carried Meg inside from an impromptu nap under a tree this morning. Anywhere is fair game.

It might be an understatement to say that Gavin isn’t used to finding new joy in the same place, over and over, every hour of every day, but that doesn’t mean he can’t adjust.

Meg’s hand covers his on the bed, her slender fingers pausing to intertwine with his. The dying sunlight filters through the gauzy curtains, painting everything in shades of soft yellow. When they first got here, this place looked like no-man’s-land. Now, it feels like the very center of the universe.

He’s here. He’s home. He’s _happy_. 

The itch to leave slips away like water through his lax hands, and Gavin closes his eyes and sinks into the feeling.

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat with me on tumblr (teamokdynamite) or twitter (poppyseedheart) if you'd like! Thanks for reading <3


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